Timeless
by Ada Adore
Summary: You don't have much time left. It's a precious commodity after all. Post RE4 Ada Leon COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Timeless**

_By Ada Adore_

Yes, your eyes do not deceive you. I'm back. This is an Ada/Leon story I've been working on for a while now and it's sort of experimental and angsty, but there's plenty of action and romance too. Each chapter begins with a small prologue set in a motel where Leon and Ada are spending the night. These sections are set months after the start of the main story itself but their relevance will become clear nearer the end of the story, so don't worry too much about them now.

The story is set immediately after RE4. Ada has returned home from Spain and is contemplating her new life as a double agent working for The Organisation and spying on Wesker. The whole story is from Ada's point of view as she tries to make sense of her new world. It's rated T for some adult content but it's nothing too explicit or wierd. Promise!

It's about three times longer than Hope and I'll be downloading a new chapter every week or so. Thanks again to my beta reader and all who read this. I love reviews by the way- they're my chocolate! Feed me please :-)

**Chapter One- Timeless**

'_The timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness; and it knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream,'_

--Kahlil Gibran

**3.36am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

It's early morning when you wake again, your body humming with tender aches and powerful satisfaction. Perhaps you should leave now, with the memory still intact and not tainted by the inevitable goodbye and the agony of loss that you'll both have to face two months from now. Maybe. It would be the wisest thing to do. But you don't move from that spot, in fact you even grasp the pillow tightly in your hand.

Your eyes part the darkness, like fingers slipping through fabric, and trace the lines of his jaw as he slumbers beside you. The neon lights blink through the blinds of the room flicking gaudy shades of red and blue onto the grubby white sheets. Your hand slides closer to his face to catch the warmth of his life breath on your fingertips.

'Are you leaving?'

You feel a jolt tumble down your spine when he shatters the silence around you. His eyes are tightly lidded and you wonder for a moment if he is still fast asleep and if you have just imagined his voice. But the warm hand that cups your thigh beneath the sheets silences all thoughts completely.

'No,' you reply, and for once you truly mean it.

'Good.'

His eyes are still shut and you wonder how long he has been awake, relishing the weight of your body half-flung over his.

'How did you know I was awake?' you whisper.

'Your breathing patterns,' he murmurs, 'Plus you snore a little when you're asleep.'

'I do not snore!' you exclaim with half-hearted indignation.

He laughs, the sound rolling around you like an embrace, 'Yeah, you do. Just softly though. It's cute. What time is it?'

You shift to your side as gently as possible, feeling your sore muscles uncoil, expelling the pain like a twisting cloth shedding water. You force yourself not to cry out and try to gather your errant thoughts together as you squint at the luminous figures on the clock. The dull ache of your limbs usually acts as the perfect timepiece, its relentless ticking torturing you. Except when you're here with him. Time doesn't exist here; love is a vacuum.

'It doesn't matter,' you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Leon opens his eyes. He understands. His expression is strong and collected as he reaches for you and you're timeless once again.

**November 27****th**** 2004, 11.52pm: Umbrella European HQ- Somewhere in France**

It's been twenty-four hours, thirty-eight minutes and eleven seconds since you were extracted from that island in Spain and taken to a nearby base to recover, report and soak the bruises on your back.

You usually walked away from your…excursions relatively unscathed but this time you had had more than a mission brief to contend with. But it had all worked out in the end, with a little detour here and there.

Wesker had barely looked at you when you had handed him the sample case but his expression had assumed a mask of pensive wonder at the sight of his new toy and though he had smiled and, like always, deliberately brushed your hair from your forehead (for everything he does is deliberate) you had felt a sick shiver of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach. There was something wrong here.

Nevertheless, you learn that the meandering halls of the compound smell the same and your quarters are exactly how you left them- tightly folded sheets, Tolstoy by your bedside and a gun under your pillow. The temporary base hums with activity and a batch of clever but bland scientist will soon arrive to be absorbed into the faceless mass of this new Umbrella, just as others had done so before you had left. Quarantine was over and it was time to head back to America. Dinner was at eight as always and your flight home was at three am as ordered. You pace across the carpet letting your feet sink into the coarse fabric and inspect every ornament, every timepiece and every utility for the source of that unshakable but tender anxiety. Antique clocks, gilded with tastefully burnished metal blink back impassively at you, innocent, silent, still, clean and cold.

And it's then you realise that the only thing that's changed is you. For the first time in over six years you're not working for Albert Wesker, or for yourself. But for _them_. The Organisation. There was no going back now; this was no longer an idea or an option. There was nothing to fear but change.

So you let yourself relax for a second and remove your black suede heals with a well-trained kick. You ignore the phone the first time it rings, just as Wesker always expects you to, and bend slowly over the porcelain bathtub to reach the taps and wrench them clockwise. But you don't need a bath. You need a shower. You need to be overwhelmed by each pounding wave of water till your aches, your pains and those thoughts of Leon, the sight of him burned onto the inside of your eyelids is dissolved. Instead you dwell on the familiar. The craft of denial you'd honed since childhood. You'll do the opposite of what you want to do just to prove to those around you that you can, that you're not so fragile that you'd shatter if your desires weren't met. 'Yes' made you happy, but 'no' made you stronger. 'Need' was a weakness and 'want' was an option.

'_You don't need much do you Ada?'_

'_Oh I need plenty Albert, just not anything you can give me.'_

'_So you don't want this job?'_

Your eyes had closed for a moment and your chest had slowly swelled with air, 'What I need and what I want are two completely different things.'

Your hands are shaking as you remember that transaction. It's tempting to let them stay that way, to let them absorb the pain, to explore the feeling more closely and to indulge your morbid curiosity. But you take pity on the body you no longer recognise. You reach into your pitifully empty duffle bag and pull out a small plastic bottle. It rattles in your hand and you cringe at the sound. The instructions say no more than two a day but you know that's a lie. Or at least you hope it's a lie. You can't remember anymore. The pills are red and black, Albert's idea of a joke you suppose, and you choke them down without water.

While the bath fills, you wander aimlessly to your television and turn it on. For the benefit of the camera you know is hidden in the Monet beside the cabinet you affect a perfect pose of indifference as you flick slowly from channel to channel. It's minutes before you find your mark.

_'Today at ten fifteen President Graham announced the safe return of Ashley Graham, his youngest daughter, from an ordeal White House representatives described as 'harrowing'. Though the White House had kept Ashley's abduction a well guarded secret for several weeks after her capture, a source leaked the story to a major Washington news publication three days ago. An official statement has revealed that Ashley Graham's abduction was the work of a Middle Eastern terrorist network under the direct control of Al Qaeda. President Graham encouraged the people of America to remain vigilant in the face of such threats and praised the bravery and loyalty of his Special Service agents.'_

Your lips curl into a smile and you wonder how Leon reacted to the President's lies and of his conjuring a political campaign from his own daughter's nightmare. Or if he had even reacted at all. Lies and corruption had practically been your comfort zone for years until you had met him, but he had been so green, so open then. And for a split second you're back there with him, waking again to a torn dress, a wound on you side and those eyes so earnest and worried above you. You've opened the floodgates. Now you wonder how much he's changed and how much he has stayed the same. You don't just _want_ to know but you _need_ to know to be able to sleep at night without replaying every last minute of the past six years in your mind.

Your favourite minutes are conveniently stored on several videotapes- the surveillance tapes Wesker had had made of Leon on and off during the years following the old Umbrella's demise. You had managed to sneak a look. Not exactly Emmy award winning footage but it was educational. You now know that Leon helps his landlady take out her garbage several times a week, that he likes to jog in the rain, that he attracts blondes but prefers brunets and that he almost always returns home alone.

However this time he had found his way home with the girl, just as you had unbreakable faith that he would. Now you can see him on the small TV screen, black leather jacket and steely, unwavering gaze as he expertly steers Ashley to their car. Not so green and open anymore and you can't help but think that you were a part of that transformation. But you can't find it in yourself to feel guilty. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly, isn't that what Bach said? Leon's image drifts in and out of the frame as the news cameras frantically try to get a glimpse of the rescued girl and you lose yourself in him, in need and in weakness until your bath overflows. As you rush to rip the plug from the depths of the tub you realise that everything changed six years ago, but you'd been too stubborn and too confident to notice.

You decide to take a shower instead.

---

_Please read and review_


	2. Chapter 2

**Timeless**

**By Ada Adore**

Next chapter- enjoy! Hugs and cyber chocolate to my beta and all who take the time to read this.

**Chapter Two: Second Chances**

**3.47am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

'Do they know what you're planning to do? The Organisation I mean.'

The question is innocent enough.

'No. They no longer trust me, but I've never asked for their trust. Not really. They gave it to me, but I couldn't care less about it. This isn't about them, or Umbrella, or even Wesker.'

'Then what is this about?'

_Me. You. Us._

You sigh and nuzzle into his shoulder inhaling his scent, 'Second chances.'

**April 6****th**** 2005, 9.12pm: Bill's Bar, Manhattan- New York**

It's been four months, one week and three days since Wesker had you flown home from the European base. Four months of missions, deception and blood.

Now the one thing you can remember about your first meeting with Wesker, aside from his perpetual sunglasses, is that you hadn't thought much of him at all. You had never been surprised at how many scientists and researchers migrated from organisation to organisation in search of power, prestige or profit. You had assumed he had wanted the same. But you had been mistaken. Wesker wanted so much more. It takes a rare kind of person to be content with hiding in the shadows, but he was the only man you had ever met that actually enjoyed it. And he had taught you a lot, how to watch and wait. How to read someone within seconds and to learn how to re-write them until you're the author of not only your own destiny but everyone else's too. To stand on top of the world. But you aren't nearly as good at it as he is (you have the scars to prove it) and, as you sit tucked away in the corner of a bar in Manhattan averting your nose from the smell of acrid cigarette smoke, you almost regret that your work with him will end some day.

'Were you followed?'

'No,' you reply without elaborating any further.

Agent Frederic Shaw slips gently into the seat opposite you and smiles tightly. Shaw had never trusted you and had been against The Organisation hiring someone so unpredictable and unattached; you knew that much from the way he inspected you out of the corner of his eye as if you were a potential thief edging too close to his pockets. Not that you blamed him. You really had picked a few pockets in your youth but had given up quickly- it had all been far too easy. The fact that you had been able to return alive from Spain and prove your loyalty by handing The Organisation the real Las Plagas sample had obviously irritated him to no end.

You recline in the stiff, leathery chair, feeling it crunch under your weight, arms folded on your lap rather than on the filthy tabletop between you and Agent Shaw. It had been a split second reaction, but you had spotted it; Shaw's eyes had darkened from their usual silvery grey, blackening around the edges like burning paper.

'At ease,' your lips curl into a delicate smirk as you raise your empty hands, 'I'm unarmed.'

Shaw was too tough to blush, 'I only have a few minutes Miss Wong. What happened at your meeting with Wesker yesterday?'

Impassively, eyes locked almost lazily to Shaw's face, you begin to recount the briefing. It had been one of the few times that year that you have been told to meet Wesker face to face, as your meetings are usually done over a videophone. Whatever it was, you knew it was important. His hands had been clasped completely still in front of him and behind him a screen had filled the wall with scenes you were only too familiar with.

_Moscow, Prague, Krakow._

'It seems we've run into some difficulties over the past few months,' Wesker had said.

_Cairo, London, Denpasar. _

'I've been successful in all but one mission,' you had replied evenly.

_São Paulo- Brazil._

'Oh your mission objectives have been fulfilled but our benefactors aren't as pleased with your progress as they might otherwise be,' he had continued, 'The loss of many of our Eastern European bases and the removal of vital information by the United States government is unacceptable.'

You had sensed the tension in his voice. Wesker is a big fish in an even bigger pond and though he has gained the most out of anyone since Umbrella's initial demise, he had had the most ambitious dreams to start off with. He had grown disillusioned with the old Umbrella due to its incessant infighting, ceaseless rivalries and unbridled insanity. But if the old Umbrella was run by madmen, 'S' was led by glorified accountants. And though Wesker had almost reached the top of the pyramid, he still faced too many obstacles for his liking.

He had brought his left hand to the console beside him and fluently tapped it to change the images on the screen again.

_Moscow, Prague, Krakow. Cairo, London, Denpasar, Paris, Hong Kong, __São Paulo_

They all had one thing in common. Leon.

You couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that Leon had secured a release from his job as the President's bodyguard to go Umbrella hunting all over again. But you'd have been even more disappointed if he hadn't. It wasn't like Leon to stay at home and let the action happen without him.

Throughout your monologue, the agent before you had simply been resting his forearms on the table, fingers picking softly at half a beer mat. He had made eye contact with you only once, but you knew he had been listening, scrutinising your tale, testing your report against his scepticism. But you're in no mood to ignore it completely. You pause to test his response. Shaw uses the interlude to direct a subtle nod to a near-by waitress and order a whisky. So much for 'a few minutes'.

Lifting his head he smiles, such an unusual look on him. His lips are so thin that it simply seems as though his face has split cleanly across its middle, 'Leon S. Kennedy. Yes, I've read about him. His name comes up almost as much as Wesker's these days. Despite his service training he's far too low on the chain of command to be told a thing about our work or our arrangement with you.'

You raise an eyebrow and flick your gaze pointedly across the crowded, dusty bar, 'You don't need to remind me of that Shaw. I know how to do my job.'

'I'm not doubting you,' he replies, but you know he's lying, 'Can the same be said about Wesker's belief in you?'

'He's too smart to trust me completely, or anyone else for that matter. But he's told me too much to be any more suspicious of my work than usual,' you reply.

'But Kennedy still represents a threat to his organisation.'

Your pale green gaze lingers on the tabletop before sweeping up to look Shaw square in the eye, 'Without a doubt.'

You continue to recall the events of the previous day. Wesker had given you his efficient breakdown of every incident Leon had inflicted on 'S' since the Las Plagas operation, though you hadn't needed him to do so. They were pretty memorable. Now you expected Leon to show up on your assignments almost as much as you anticipated the sunrise. Perhaps Leon felt the same way. Or perhaps you just weren't quiet enough when you were creeping about the ledges above him. On one mission he had seen you and called up to you.

'_Are you following me?' _

'_How'd you know it was me and not one of the guards?' As if you had even needed to ask._

'_You've been tailing me for an hour and haven't tried to kill me.'_

'_The night's still young Leon.'_

You remember a particular incident in Taiwan where he had arrived first and practically cleared the path for you as he went about his tasks. Luckily for you his intel had been flawed and he had been sent after some rather redundant documents hidden in the core of the factory while you had taken a detour and managed to get your hands on the cybernetic device that 'S' had been after. It was a device that was capable of replacing or even enhancing organic appendages and organs. You had given The Organisation a copy of the device's instructions and schematics. But it had been too dangerous not to hand the real prototype over the Wesker and 'S'.

Just as you had suspected, the hardest thing about every mission had been handling Leon just enough to help him, but not enough to give him any idea of what you were up to. And neither one of you would pull your punches, figuratively speaking of course. It had never come to that, Leon was too much of a gentleman. He had tried to physically stop you once and had almost succeeded. But you knew where all his old injuries were. The worst being his left shoulder. To use it against him had hurt you almost as much as it had hurt him. No. It had hurt you more. That scar- jagged and deep- was the result of the first time he had risked his life to save yours. The first time in a long time that you had met anyone truly selfless. The first time in a long time that you had wanted to turn back the clock.

You often wonder what Leon thought whenever he looked in the mirror and saw that scar. Was it the biggest mistake of his life? His first lifesaving badge of honour? Or was it now just one of many similar mementos?

_São Paulo- Brazil._

He'd had you there. After disposing of several guards in an underground chemical research lab hidden deep under the Atlantic Rainforest you had arrived at an intersection and found the right hallway- your intended exit- blocked. So you had improvised and taken the left section. It had opened out into a large causeway suspended several feet above a reactor and you had almost reached the end before _it_ had attacked you- sharp teeth, piercing howl, powerful body, unnatural wingspan. And so damn fast. You had reached for your gun a second too late and it had sent you over the edge. The tropical virus sample you had been carrying had fallen from your grasp and rolled along the walkway. You'd clung desperately to the iron railings as the creature had flown high and arched over you blocking the sunlight from the glass roof above. Disarmed and exhausted, you had steeled yourself against a second attack when you had heard the gunshots and then the creature's dying wail, and you had known it was him. By the time you had managed to climb back up he had been standing opposite you with the sample in his gloved hand and his eyes on you. Big, blue, beautiful and begging questions he couldn't bear to ask out loud and that you couldn't bear to hear. And you hadn't known what to say or what you were allowed to tell him. So you had settled for the truth.

'_Thank you.'_

'_Don't mention it,' he had waved the sample at you, 'And thank you.'_

You had smiled and turned away. He could have this one. There was always another week and another mission.

When his briefing had concluded, Wesker had passed you a folder of maps and profiles before standing up to take his leave. You had stayed in your seat- Wesker isn't a man who favours ceremony or baseless etiquette.

'Ada,' he had waited until you had made eye contact, 'We cannot afford to have Kennedy on the loose. When you get a chance, shoot to kill.'

You had been about to nod but you had realised that wouldn't be enough. He'd been watching you and he had wanted a promise.

'With Leon gone they'll only send another agent in his place. I know him and I can use him,' you had replied.

'We've reached a level far beyond the influence of a government errand boy. _I_ have no use for him and _you_ have your orders.'

You had gripped the file in your hands, nails biting through the paper, 'I have my orders.'

Concluding your tale you glanced surreptitiously at your watch as Shaw began to detail your countermission. You were required to take the sample of the virus Wesker has sent you after, but you were to give it to Shaw and The Organisation instead. They'll in turn give you something else (something 'harmless') to hand to Wesker. 'Child's play,' Shaw called it.

He swallows his whisky in a single movement and croaks, 'Tell me about Leon.'

'I thought you had already read about him.'

He grins humourlessly and replies with saccharine sweetness, 'Yes. Mission stats, psychological exams. But I want to know what _you_ know about him.'

_Sanctimonious prick._

You don't give him the satisfaction of reacting, 'I'm not a profiler and I'm sure Leon would be happy to answer whatever you asked of him.'

You rise to leave and he frowns up at you. Shaw was a man who favoured ceremony and baseless etiquette.

'It must have been hard for you. I know that you and Leon go _way_ back, but Wesker isn't going to accept you blowing off his orders this time.'

'Your concern makes me all warm and fuzzy inside,' you are about to turn your back and leave.

'Why are you doing this?' he asks reclining in his chair, 'My superiors haven't told me and I'm curious. Why would a highly paid agent give up her job and work for the government? We aren't paying you much or even giving you immunity for your past…activities.'

'Perhaps I've grown a conscience.'

Shaw laughs, his bulky shoulders quivering. You suppress the urge to draw the gun you have hidden in your coat and shoot him (you'd lied to him about being unarmed- you are as suspicious of him as he is of you). But you don't. You've worked too hard to let anyone stop you now. You straighten your blood-red leather jacket and leave the bar, stepping out into the moonlight.

You'd left a single detail out of your report to Shaw. A detail you had, until then, been able to push into the back of your mind. After Wesker had left the briefing room, you had sat reviewing the mission files. Reading every page and absorbing absolutely nothing. You'd looked at the clock and realised that over an hour had passed and that you barely knew where you were headed next. All you had known was that fifty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds earlier, you had made a promise to kill the man you loved.

---

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Tether**

Gosh, thanks so much for the reviews for the last couple of chapters! You guys rock. I was scared that this story would be a little weird but I'm so glad to see that it's understandable and enjoyable. Oh, and Leon makes his entrance in this chapter :-)

**4.02am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

Leon runs his fingers through the unfamiliar blonde strands of your hair, testing the new reality against the old memories. You hate the brittle, dyed strands of hair, a cross section of new identities and disguises that you had been forced to throw over your already wrecked and weary body during the past few lonely months. Red, brown, blonde. The old Ada is buried under those colours and Leon's hands were digging through them, looking for her, trying to drag her free again. You feel like telling him not to bother, but you know he'd never listen.

**April 9****th**** 2005, 6.56pm: Somewhere outside Palermo- Sicily**

It's been two days, fourteen hours, fourteen minutes and two seconds since had you left Shaw in that Manhattan bar and boarded a plane to Sicily.

'I'll need to have a word with Wesker about my preferred travel arrangements,' you mutter twisting gently to your side to free the leg trapped under you. You'd been inside this cargo truck for hours now, in the dark and the dank, alongside several crates that smelled like rotting cabbage, 'Still. I've had worse.'

This mission was certainly the smallest and most straight forward that you had been given in a long while. Or at least it appeared that way on paper. Your first goal had been to arrive as a tourist at Palermo International Airport, Sicily. From there you took an over-priced cab to the city outskirts and hiked along the picturesque mountains for a few miles to a shack that sat downtrodden and bleached in the Mediterranean scrubland. It was one of the many low tech and low profile properties owned by the 'Costa' shipping and delivery company. But beneath Costa's mainstream façade they had managed to acquire a research lab along the coast of Sicily, hidden beneath their main vehicle storage unit. The shack was a safe, secluded rest stop for Costa delivery trucks on their way to the lab. And it was here that one of those trucks would give you a ride- without even knowing it.

You surmised that the benefit of Costa reputation for being 'small fry' was a degree of security. A multi-billion dollar enterprise like Umbrella attracted rivals and spies (a fact you knew better than anyone), but Costa slipped through the net again and again. Out of site, out of mind. Nevertheless, you can't stay small time forever and survive. Not in this business. A source had told Wesker about a bio-weapon being developed at Costa's main lab- her name was Venus. She was a tightly coiled mass of buds and stems and crimson jaws- a mutated Venus flytrap cultivated from the _Dionaea_ 'Red Piranha' variety. The common Venus flytrap is capable of rapid movement, but nothing like Costa's Venus. Nothing like it. Venus was now growing at a rate of ten metres per day despite being under 'sedation' and the rate was increasing. The 'powers that be' at Costa had decided it was time to move Venus to a larger lab before she outgrew her home. But Wesker wanted a sample of Venus. Why? He didn't elaborate but he rarely ever did.

Suddenly, you're pitched sideways as the truck breaks and skids to a clumsy stop.

'When I get out of here I'll personally revoke that bastard's license,' you scowl darkly and reach slowly for your weapon. The factor of surprise is undoubtedly your best asset right now, so you slip slowly towards the back doors of the truck, kneel behind a large crate of machine parts and raise the gun so that the cold barrel is mere centimetres from your hot, pink cheek. Force of habit. Since childhood you had been fascinated by the way certain scents could float right to the root of your subconscious and instill a sense of security inside your mind. At the age of five that scent had been mother's perfume, but now, 25 years later, it was gun oil and metal polish.

The shuddering sound of the compartment door handle being wrenched filled the cargo truck. And that's when you hear the shots. Successive, loud and sharp. Machinegun fire. You hear something solid slam the side of the truck; you flinch away from it aiming your gun at the pounding metal. It's followed by screams. Sounds you had heard far too often in the past few years. The sounds collide with the truck, swamping it with chaos and agony. But in seconds it's over and a blanket of silence falls.

Three seconds, four, five. You lift your free hand towards the handles of the compartment door and push the doors open wide enough to see. You're in some kind of underground car park, the entrance of which is barred by a large gate. The room is empty except for several abandoned trucks in carefully disciplined rows. The air is saturated with damp and the smell of petrol. Strips of light are suspended above the ceiling casting a glow so cold it makes you shiver. Dropping stealthily to the ground you take methodical footsteps around the truck and find the body. It was the driver- you recognise him from the rest stop- a redheaded male, dark sunglasses (broken on the floor beside him) and a grey t-shirt (stained with blood). His mouth is still open and his machinegun is still in his hand, but that hand is lying several feet away from the rest of his body, torn off and flung away like garbage. Leaning over him you frown recognising the marks- ragged and torn flesh. Animal bites. _What is this?_ Your files said nothing about animals- only plants and a few aquatic specimens.

And that's when you see it. Actually you smelt it first- like a mixture of saltwater and some kind of bleach stinging the back of your throat. It was a large cat- at least it was shaped like one. It was the size of a panther and had no fur on its body; instead it seemed to be covered in some kind of moss with veiny growths circling a ribcage that protruded like prison bars. As far as you can see its eyes are sealed, so it was roving slowly around the almost empty car park dragging its stained limbs along the floor. Silver claws swelled from its paws and tapped an irregular tattoo on the concrete. Suddenly it lifts its snout in the air and spins to face you.

'It can't see me, but it can smell me,' your thoughts bounce in the back of your skull like a heart beat as you slowly rise from a crouching position, 'Great.'

The infected animal snarls and springs blindly towards you. You raise the gun and fire again and again but the creature simply shrugs off the bullets like confetti.

You take off towards the entrance to the factory in an attempt to put some distance between you and the creature. But as fast as you are, it's beginning to overtake you. Reaching into your side-pack, you pull out a palm-sized last resort. You only have three of these and if there were many more creatures like this inside then you're screwed. Gripping the smoke grenade in your hand you toss it over your shoulder and lunge to the ground dodging the cloud of acrid smoke that billows towards you like a rolling wave.

You lift your body from the ground and turn back. The smoke hangs in the air behind you, creeping slowly towards the ceiling. But you can still hear it snuffling in the distance. A sizable amount of toxic steam from a grenade and it's still standing? But at least it could no longer smell you. Shaking your head, you sprint the last few hundred yards to the factory entrance.

Only two of the beasts had been sniffing around the hallways of the main research area and one of them had been too busy nuzzling the innards of a scientist's corpse to pay much attention to you. The other however had required most of your ammo supply just to keep it at bay. In just a few minutes you are able to confirm that this isn't a small mishap, but a full-scale outbreak.

The pale yellow walls of the laboratory were more reminiscent of an office block than a place of scientific research and innovation. Canvas paintings of Tuscan sunsets and Sicilian beaches lined the walls. Their work was rudimentary but pleasant. A shame they were smashed and dangling on cracked walls. This was yet another indication that Costa should not have been experimenting with viral research. The exterior of the lab was well sealed to prevent an easy outbreak, but internally it was still a glorified office block. Wesker had written in his report that they were 'like little children playing with very dangerous toys.' And now you had no choice but to agree with him, despite the fact that doing so made bile rise in your neck.

Gently pushing the door labelled 'Vaccine Room' with your free hand, you raise your weapon and sneak a look inside. There's nothing in there. Nothing obviously alive at any rate. Glass cabinets had been blasted apart by gunfire, and the remains of monsters and men lie splayed across a floor painted in blood.

What kind of woman have I become when the stench of death doesn't frighten me anymore? The only thing I fear is failure.

You carefully make your way to the computer terminal mounted on the desk and began to do what you're being paid twice over for. When you finish downloading two copies of Costa's main database you search hastily through the draws, desks and bodies. According to your mission specs you are looking for a red keycard and the right index fingerprint of any of the three head researchers in this facility. You had originally planned to knock one out and take a copy of the print using your PDA. You find the keycard under a stack of files, but unfortunately none of the bodies so far has belonged to Dr Hassan, Dr Giovani or Dr Riccardi.

A voice erupts from the corner of the room, a rapid, indignant stream of Italian that was more of a howl than a collection of words.

You turn sharply raising your gun. There, in the corner, sits a man with a puddle of blood blossoming over this crisp white shirt. From the looks of things the poor man wasn't going to be able to get up again. He speaks to you again in brisk bursts of Italian.

You shake your head at him, 'I don't speak Italian,'

'Who are you? What are you doing here?' he spits angrily in heavily accented English.

'Who I am or what I'm doing here can't be your biggest concern right now,' you reply slowly, which seems to rile him even more. You edge closer, 'Tell me, are you Dr Emilio Riccardi?'

He sneers, 'No.'

'Then who are you?'

'Is that _your_ biggest concern now?' his face strains with effort as he tries to sit up.

As you get closer you see that his hair has a gingery colour, now speckled with blood, and his skin has a liberal dusting of brown freckles. You can't make out his name on the tag but you can tell it's yellow. He wouldn't be any use to you then. Head researchers wore _blue_ tags.

'Never mind,' you lower the gun, 'Is this the only place the Venus vaccines are made? There don't seem to be any left.'

He chuckles, 'All gone. You're too late I'm afraid. There were only a few samples of the vaccine and the few people that survived the initial escape of the animals, and of Venus herself, began to fight over the final samples.'

'Venus is loose?' Your chest tightens.

'Yeah. Good luck with that Signorina,' he mumbles and turns away to stare at the wall just inches from his nose.

Perhaps it was the forlorn look in his eyes or his effortless resignation to his own fate, but he reminds you so much of Jon. During your short three-month relationship you had rarely ever gone out together- for a movie or dinner. Even when you had, Jon had always been so tired and the conversation had dried up quickly, unless it had been about work. But you had both been advised never to speak about Umbrella in public places. You had spent most of your time at Jon's apartment talking about his work. To this day you're sure that this was what he had valued the most about you. You listened to him when no one else in his life did. But unbeknownst to him, you had just been hired to listen to every word he said. It was no great work of compassion though you did pity him. Some nights, you would had find him in the dark, drunk and slumped across his desk scribbling away at some memo or notice for his superiors. Despite being made head researcher at Arklay after Birkin's promotion, Jon had been against many of White Umbrella's more unethical experiments and sometimes he had had the guts to say so. His brilliant mind was the only reason Umbrella tolerated his 'outbursts'.

'_Ada…I just…I just need them to sit down and…and listen to me. I need…time to work out another way to… Jesus! I just need time! I want this job but it's killing me to work for them. You know…there are lucky people in this world that get to choose how they die…they know when it'll happen and they go out knowing that they did something meaningful. And I can…I can do something meaningful.' _

_Jon had paused gasping for breath then swept his arms along the desk as if trying to wipe his fears away. Papers had fluttered to the floor, books had hit the deck and he had cried, 'If…if you…if we went in together and told them to change. I know I can change them before it's too late, get them to stop what they're doing, stop experimenting on humans. I hate them, every single one of those…If they turn me down again I swear to God…I swear to you…that I'll quit. I'll leave and they'll never find us. Just tell me you'll help me. Please.' _

You would put him to bed after he passed out. Jon could never handle his alcohol. But the next morning he'd put on his suit and his tie, he'd kiss you good morning, he'd shake his head in a vehement 'no' when you'd ask if he remembered anything of last night and then he'd go back to work to shake hands with Birkin and all the other monsters like nothing had happened. You had sometimes wondered if Jon had thought of those nights and the ongoing battle between his career aspirations and his conscience in the days before he'd died. Whether he had felt the end galloping towards him as his body and mind turned in on itself. Had he been afraid?

With a sigh of frustration, you make your way to the nearby surveillance room. If there were people left alive or even if there was just another cache of bodies somewhere you may be able to locate a head researcher. You also needed to check on Venus. But only nine of the 12 screens are working when you get there and they hold little useful information. You had been about to leave when you'd spotted movement on one of them.

'Leon.'

You give a small smile as you watch him slowly navigate the corridor like a pro, checking all possible corners and exits. From the camera's vantage point you can see Leon walking towards the sharp right corner of the hallway and the connecting corridor. You can also see the mutant panther crouched patently around that corner, its ears twitching at the sound of Leon's footsteps. Her body is low, pressed keenly to the floor.

You seize the control panel of the camera system and hastily search for access to the comms and announcements system. You had to warn him.

Leon is barely metres from the corner now and you're running out of time. Cursing your rudimentary knowledge of Italian, you finally manage to locate the correct button and snatch the microphone from the dashboard.

'Leon! Heads up!'

Leon looks up for a split second as if trying to find the source of your voice but the moment he sees what you're referring to he's all action. He unloads several bullets from his TMP at the creature as it leaps for his throat.

The camera cuts out and leaves nothing but hissing static. You curse in frustration and systematically flip from channel to channel in an attempt to find him again.

The picture flicks back on for a second and you see him dodging an attack and landing in a crouch. The animal paws at him springing blindly towards him. He runs headlong for the exit door, but it's several meters away, the animal is sniffing at his heels and the picture cuts out again. You swallow and grip the side of the desk to still your trembling hands. Your eyes are locked fiercely onto the monitor. Anxiety only made the symptom worse, you knew that. But you didn't like to feel helpless.

_Damn it. I should be there! I'm always there in time. Why not now?_

The camera flares to life for another instant and you see the corridor is empty. Shaking your head, you check each remaining monitor for movement, for life. And you can't help but close your eyes in relief when you find him again. He's found a safe room.

He's on the next surveillance screen gesturing wildly up at you. You chuckle softly, lift the microphone to your lips and purr, 'Leon, I can't hear a word you're saying. There's an intercom behind you. Press the button.'

'Ada? Your timing's great, I was starting to get lonely,' his voice is distorted but you can still make out the charmingly arrogant tone he reserved just for you.

'Lonely _and_ lost I see,'

'I'll find my way. You're here for the sample.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes, you?'

'Yeah,' he pauses, 'But I'm under orders not to let anyone else get a sample out of this building. My superiors are watching me.'

You know that feeling only too well, 'I'm sure there's plenty to go around. Besides, you won't get into the lab without the keycard. And I have that.'

Through the grainy black and white image on the screen you almost spot a smile, but it's lost in the periodic static seconds later.

'That card's useless without the right fingerprint,' he waves his PDA up at the camera, 'Trade?'

_It's never the easy way with you, is it Kennedy?_

'I'll meet you in five minutes.'

He's running his hands along the panel of the door when you find him. Searching for alarm systems and traps you suppose. He's as you remember him from most of your other encounters. Black t-shirt, long sleeved this time (sparing you the distracting sight of his finely toned arms), loose pants, and boots tightly laced. He's heard you, but he pretends he hasn't. He wants to see what you're planning to do to him. You're standing a few feet away now and you can make out the slightly shallow quality of his breaths and the measured movements of his fingers. You fidget a little behind him, your utility belt making a soft sigh as it brushes against your hips. Leon trembles.

'Don't just stand there,' he almost growls, 'Gimme a hand here.'

You roll your eyes and slip in beside him. You stretch up high above you and begin to press your fingers around the edges of the door.

'So, how are you?' he asks shooting you a lopsided grin.

You give a noncommittal shrug eyeing him thoughtfully. He laughs and brushes his dark blonde hair from his eyes. He reaches for his PDA and walks to one side of the door. You mirror his actions and slip the card from your pocket. Wordlessly he nods at you and you press the card to the slot whilst he holds the captured fingerprint to the glass panel by the door. The panel glows green, you're good to go.

The experimentation chamber is not what you had expected. You had been given a written description but nothing more. You hadn't known that the ceiling would be almost fifty feet above the floor, or that the room was equipped with several sensors that rotated towards you as they discerned your movements. Venus was curled up in its epicentre, shielded from the outside world by a glass cylinder several hundred meters in diameter. The cylinder had several punctures and Venus's many green arms dangled through them reaching longingly towards the ceiling. The mutated plants' limbs branched out infinitely throughout the room and were dotted with several red pores and small pincer-like traps with razor edges. But she wasn't moving at all.

'Looks like Audrey's gone back to sleep,' Leon indicates towards to the web of green vines suspended lazily around the ceiling of the holding chamber.

'Audrey?' you raise an eyebrow at him.

'Yeah. Audrey. You know, 'Little Shop of Horrors'.'

You stare at him impassively.

He rolls his eyes, 'The 1986 movie? Audrey, the homicidal talking plant?'

'I've never seen it,' you reply.

Leon looks about to say something but then his eyes lock onto something behind you, 'Ada! Look.'

You spin around but see nothing. It's a full three seconds before you spot it. A blue nametag. A head scientist is suspended several feet from the floor, caught in Venus's web, half buried in her olive-green embrace. Then you spot others, three, ten, a dozen. Men, women, some so disfigured that you can't tell. Their bodies are bloated, half-protruding from the plant's deadly grasp and scarred by black, oozing ribbons.

'My god,' Leon breathes, 'We have to hurry. You take the controls. I'll get the samples.'

You grab his arm, 'No. I'll go. You have to get the samples from Venus's pincer cells. They contain the venom. I'm faster than you.'

_I'm the expendable one._

'I don't think so Ada,' he replies firmly griping your hand in his. You thought he'd dislodge your fingers from his forearm, but instead he just holds on to them staring at you intently. You wonder if he read your mind.

'Leon,' you say his name firmly and slip your hand away, 'Take the control panel.'

He frowns at you, 'I've got your back.'

You nod and slowly approach Venus. Leon's hands slip skilfully over the control panel and the door to Venus's chamber slides open. You take a deep breath and enter. Carefully sidestepping the roots protruding from the soil on the ground, you edge closer to the plant. Out of the corner of your eye you think you spot its limbs swaying contently. Your eyes dart to Leon, but his gaze is fixed on the computer panel, his expression composed. You continue. It takes mere seconds for you to get the first sample of the Venus venom. You take the vial ignoring the slight discomfort you feel from placing death in your pocket. Before you can start the procedure to get the second sample an alarm blares and red lights flash above you. You look up and find Leon calling to you.

_She's awake._

The reinforced glass door starts to slide closed so you dash towards it as Venus stirs around you. You throw yourself towards it, hands clawing at the panel but it's only open by centimetres now. Your lips part to expel a howl of frustration and anger that had erupted straight from your beating heart. Suddenly the door's movements are stilled. Leon's hands are slipping through the three-inch gap and dragging the door open again. You grab the edge and help him force it aside. You slip through the widening gap, gasping for air, and feel him grab you by the arms.

'Come on!'

You barely spare a glance above you but out of the corner of your eye you spot Venus's movements. Her tentacles whip through the air sensitive to the vibrations of your movements. You both break into a sprint for the exit. Venus swings a branch towards you both. You dive to the right, your knee smacking on the hard floor below. Leon is several meters to your left. You're separated. You don't let yourself look back at him again; you can't spare the time. You tell yourself that again and again as you dodge the next attack, landing hard on the metal walkway. You finally reach the exit and glance back as your moist palm slams the door release. Leon is a few meters behind you but he isn't running. He's holding his side, his left arm a dead weight against his body and he's shuffling towards you.

'Leon!' you call to him and launch yourself away from the door. You reprimand yourself for your actions but those kinds of thoughts are just an echo nowadays anyway. You grab him and half drag his body towards the door.

'Don't disappoint me, you're stronger than this,' you hiss into his ear. His head is hung forward but you think you see him nod.

You both make it to the door and it closes firmly behind you, but you hear Venus's arms pounding at the other side with a primal fury. You look back and suppress a shiver. She must have been able to sap strength from the bodies of the scientists she had infected and slowly consumed. Your mind eagerly pulls together several possibilities, but only one seems the most likely. Wesker wants samples of Venus to utilise her ability to suck energy so quickly and efficiently from other organisms. To store it and hibernate till more comes her way. Zombies could feed on the living, but their high metabolic rate resulted in inefficient energy expenditure. Venus could change all that and the thought makes you shiver. As you ponder the creature's strength and brutality, Leon slips from your arms and staggers away. He reaches the wall at the other end of the room and you watch anxiously as he retches against it, black fluid leeching between his lips. His body jolts and his fingernails scratch the paint from the wall as he desperately tries to stay upright. You advance slowly but he barely notices you. Gently, you take his face in your hands, assessing its clammy texture and the dilating black pupils of his eyes. You turn him around and spot the gashes on his left side. Venus's toxin. Wasting no time you seize his arms and pull him towards the hallway. You hold him so close that when he stumbles, you stumble. The sound of Venus hammering at the lab door behind you spurs you on. You find a room with a thick steel door and press the access panel. It's just a utility and equipment room. There are files on the table, glass beakers lined neatly on shelves, chairs overturned on the floor and an old, rusty typewriter in the corner. It seems safe. You both lurch inside and you fumble for the light switch. Leon is groaning now, his breaths slow and jagged.

'Ada,' he gasps and staggers towards you.

His fingers clamp tightly around your arms and he pushes you away from him, roughly propelling you towards the door. You instantly think back to Spain and the ferocious delight in his eyes as he had squeezed the air from your throat. But the fear only lasts a moment; it's different now. His eyes are hooded but you don't see rage, you see fear, confusion and desperation. The thin strips of blue around his pupils crackle like electricity. He wants you to leave.

_No chance._

You slowly pull away and reach for him tenderly. His energy is so sapped by now; he has all the strength of a small child. You cup his cheeks in your hands and turn his face upwards to meet your gaze. His breath bathes your lips; he's so close. His eyes reluctantly connect with yours but you aren't even sure that he sees you. You gently lower him to the floor and reach into your utility belt. You have a single first aid spray, it won't cure the poison but it will slow it down. It'll give you time. After administering the dosage you stare into his face attempting to communicate with him, reassure him, and reassure yourself. But he falls unconscious in your arms.

You slowly stand and, without looking back, run to the door. No sooner are you through when you hear a crash and then the squeal of metal being torn apart several corridors away.

Seconds later you hear the sound of the comm system's bland and disinterested announcement. 'Warning! Bio hazardous outbreak imminent! The emergency system has been activated. This facility will detonate! Repeat this facility will detonate! You have thirty minutes.'

You turn on your heal and run.

---

TBC.

Yeah, I know- I'm cruel! The next chapter should be up by Tuesday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Tenuous**

**4.32am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

'You're fussing over me again. I've told you before to stop,' you eye him thoughtfully and slide gently from his arms.

He frowns up at you, 'So it's alright for you to take care of me but not the other way around?'

'You have a real life ahead of you, I don't.'

'That's not true and you know it!'

Sighing deeply you look around, taking in the half empty motel room with its mismatched furniture, grimy walls and every item worth over $20 nailed to the floor.

'Look around you Leon. This isn't real.'

You think he's going to argue with you, scold your recklessness or beg you to stop talking. But he doesn't. He sits up in front of you, sheets curled up over his lap. His stare pierces you deeply. It's the look of a partner, a lover, a friend, all he is to you and more.

'If you don't believe that any of this is real then why are you doing this?' his voice is as rough and uneven as sandpaper, 'Why were you risking so much to work with The Organisation?'

'I wasn't risking anything I wasn't going to lose in the long term anyway.'

He shakes his head, 'How could you fight so hard for something that isn't real?'

'I wasn't including you in that statement,' you reply earnestly and slip your warm hand from under your pillow. You place it over his lap and his fingers instinctively curl around yours, 'You're the only real thing I've ever had and I'm sure as hell not going to let anything happen to you.'

**April 9****th**** 2005, 10.17pm: Somewhere outside Palermo- Sicily**

In your youth you had been an athlete. And a good one at that. You'd even made the first track team at high school and come third in the state tournament. The next year was supposedly going to be _your_ year, so suffice to say your trainer had been furious when you'd left. But you'd had to do a different kind of running. Dad had gotten careless again and it was too dangerous to stay where you were. The whole family had had to move to a new city, with new names, new pasts and old problems. But you can't think about that now. Your entire consciousness has to be geared into your supple legs to coordinate the long powerful strides you're making as you sprint headlong away from what's been chasing you.

And you can hear it behind you. It's slapping furiously at the ground, rebounding off the walls as its tentacles slash brutally at the light fittings and ceiling, knocking sparks and plaster into your hair. Your feet pound the metal walkway of the facility and it's grubby yellow walls, awash with streaks of blood, are nothing but a blur. But you don't turn back. You aren't even curious to turn back. You know what it looks like and you know what it does. You saw it for yourself and you don't want to see it again.

_Move Ada! Damn it!_

The research facility was small and only big enough for a few experimental bio-weapons. However, it also meant that there were less places to hide when things got bad. The meeting hall must have been cramped and untidy even before the outbreak. Researchers had had to practically work on top of each other, as their desks were squeezed awkwardly into the hexagonal room's six corners. And you experience that clutter first hand when you smash your shin on an upturned office chair that sends you hurtling to the deck.

_Get up! Now!_

As you scramble to your feet you risk a glance behind you and you're pleasantly surprised. It's gone. A frown mars your face and you swallow your gasps in an attempt to compose yourself again. You could have sworn you'd heard it after you a moment ago; then again maybe you were lucky and it had gotten bored, found someone else it wanted to play with or, better yet, had reached its maximum possible growth. But then you hear it again- that slapping sound, followed by an echo this time. But the room's empty! And that echo…you look up.

_She's in the air vents!_

The maze of angular silver vents above you creak and groan and swell under the pressure of the creature's weight and you back away towards the door. Gripping the handle with both hands you twist it violently and pull. But nothing happens.

Okay, time for plan B. Just make no sudden movements.

You slip slowly along the outside of the room keeping your back to the wall. You've circled a third of the room when you finally spot it- shining and half hidden under research papers and cardboard boxes. The hatch to the basement level. Just like the building schematics had said. You can go down there and arrive back up at the main lab. There's unfinished business to take care of after all. You grin and slip slowly towards it. But you're forced to pause when your '_persistent admirer'_ bursts from the vents above, its tentacle striking the wooden floor with a wet smack.

Venus has decided to make things hard for you and your gun is already out of ammo. But you don't mind. After the day you've had you were ready. The tentacle starts sliding towards you, feeling for you almost pitifully. You walk towards it slowly, your breaths measured and shallow. In fact you aren't even sure if you're letting air into your lungs at all. It takes three seconds to assess your options, two to brace yourself and no time at all to realise that you have no more time for games. You have twenty-two minutes till this facility blows itself to hell. You launch yourself towards the hatch, your strides long and precise. You see Venus lapping towards you, sensing your movements. The escape route is covered in boxes, files and debris, which you unceremoniously kick aside. You grasp the handle of the hatch and pull. The whine of the hinges is the sweetest sound you've heard in days. You hurl yourself inside the hatch and let the door fall shut behind you.

Almost distantly you hear the sound of Venus striking the trap door above your head, it's energy sapped and weakened by the chase. As you turn away your lips broaden into a slow smile and your eyes gently fall shut. You allow yourself a second to relax and a second is all it takes. You're on the move again.

You navigate the corridors with relative ease till you come full circle and find the vaccine treatment room, it hoard of bodies, it's broken glass and its empty shelves. And the one man who may be able to help you. The scientist is laying on his side now, his knees tucked under his chin.

'Doctor?' you call to him, 'Time for you to wake up.'

You pull your gun from its holster and train it on the quivering ball of human flesh. You hear a faint chuckle and then the several stifled coughs.

'Signorina. You are back. I assume you heard the announcement.'

'Yes. I heard,' you approach him and make a point of keeping your voice even, flat and firm, 'I need a vaccine for the Venus poison.'

The man rolls around gently, craning his neck towards the sound of your voice, 'I told you. There are none left.'

'You're a liar.'

'Are you so sure of that?'

'Yes. There must have been more and I need it now.'

He mutters something under his breath in Italian, it sounds like a curse. You won't waste your patience on the likes of him, not at a time like this. Lunging forward, you grab him by the hair and twist him upwards sharply to face you. He bellows at you to release him but the soft press of your gun to his neck silences his cries.

'Tell me where it is.'

'Why do you need it so badly? Surely your employer will be able to synthesise it for himself,' he scowls, 'Why do you need it now? Unless…you're infected? But you don't look it. You'd barely be able to walk right now if you were. Someone else was hurt perhaps?'

His lips bend into a snarl and he tries again to force your hand away but you only hold on tighter. His voice is icily detached but you can make out the soft and rapid throbbing of his pulse above his collarbone. He's terrified. Dying, but still frightened. Death petrifies him and you know why.

The sound of the comms system blares to life once again, its coolly clinical message delivered in five different languages, 'The emergency system has been activated. This facility will detonate! Repeat this facility will detonate! You have fifteen minutes to clear the blast zone.'

As the metallic announcement echoes down the lifeless hallways you maintain eye contact with the man before you.

'What are you going to do to me _cagna_?' he asks, 'Shoot me? I'm dead anyway.'

Fury erupts within you and you feel like screaming, choking him, beating him to a bloody stain. But you reign in your raw emotions, focus them into your resolve and tighten your fingers around the gun in your hand, 'Listen to me you son of a bitch. Unlike your colleagues you have the chance to make your death worth something, to save something better than either of us. You'll die like a coward because you have lived like a coward, hiding under your corporation. But believe me that offers no comfort when the end comes. I've been there, I know. And from the look of things you know it too, and it's torturing you. Now tell me where the last vaccines are or I swear I won't kill you. I'll keep you alive for as long as I can and I promise you, your final hours will be the worst of your life.'

The man stares right through you, his eyes like coloured glass, dazzling and translucent. He sags limply against the floor and mutters quietly, 'Botticelli's Venus. 2678 904.'

You let his body slide from your grip as you replay his words in your mind. Standing slowly, you turn around and face the object of the man's bitter last words. A fading print of Sandro Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus' hangs, marred with blood and filth, on the wall behind you. An angel of a woman demurely perched on a shell. She's so fanciful and so different in design and intent compared to the 'Venus' you had gone toe to tentacle with earlier. You swallow a cynical laugh. You run towards it, wrenching the picture clean off the wall to reveal the safe behind it. 2678 904. It opens and inside lies a violet coloured syringe, tiny, isolated, and vital. You cradle it gently in your hands and leave the room as quickly as you had entered it, leaving the man in peace.

Ten more minutes, but likely much less. It's all the time you have left to get Leon out of there. When you reach him he's in even worse shape than before. His body convulses as if trying to expel the toxins that have begun to discolour his pale skin and his throat is bound by discolouration and rosy swelling. He's still conscious, but as much as that will prove vital to his survival, you cringe at the thought of the pain he's had to endure whilst still awake.

Don't just stand there! Ada, help him.

'Leon! It's me,' you kneel beside him and carefully lift the sleeve of his shirt. You plunge the syringe into his arm and wait. The blaring of the alarms outside fade to nothing as you watch the antidote work on him. Your hands shake as they hold on tightly to his and you aren't sure whether you're the one quivering or if it's just him. But it's working. You can see it. It takes all of three minutes for his skin to reclaim its peachier tone, and for his breaths to fall silent and smooth rather than short and brittle.

'Ada?'

You expel the breath you've been holding, 'Leon, get up. We need to go. Now.'

'I'm tired. I…' he shakes his head mournfully as he tries to sit up.

'That's an order Agent Kennedy,' You drag him to his feet, relieved that he can stand up on his own strength. Holding onto him you pull him out of the room and through the corridors, a myriad of short tunnels like a rabbit's warren.

'The emergency system has been activated. This facility will detonate! Repeat this facility will detonate! You have three minutes to clear the blast zone.'

Leon has regained some of his strength. He can jog along side you now, short bursts of energy probably due to his strength of will rather than his current physical state. He can stand upright on his own but you clasp his hand in yours anyway, practically dragging him with you as you sprint down the hallways. You aren't going to let him become separated from you again. You reach the emergency exit and insert the keycard you found earlier. The door buzzes green and you're through.

'The emergency system has been activated. This facility will detonate! Repeat this facility will detonate! You have thirty seconds to clear the blast zone.'

Both of you are barely out of the facility now. There's no way you can clear it in time. Your eyes shoot to Leon and you know he's thinking the same thing. Run. Just run and don't worry about what happens next.

You were an athlete and a good one too. You could run the 100 metres in under fifteen seconds. But at times like this you know how little things like that can matter. In the distance you hear the rumbling of the facility's self-destruct system, a ball of fire swelling from the epicentre and consuming what was left. As you race through the scrubland of the secluded Sicilian mountains you feel the heat from the detonation licking at your skin. Then suddenly you're lifted into the air, the force of the blast sweeping you up into its hands and hurling you to the ground. You cry out but the noise resonates from outside of you rather than within. It covers you, a blanket of screams, of regrets and pain. The ground shudders beneath you and you are aware of a weight on your back, the smell of smouldering debitage.

Lifting your head, you sink her teeth into your bottom lip and twist your body to lie on its side. You gasp silently at the effort as your eyes loll sleepily in their sockets. You could have sworn you heard your name being called, felt hands on your face and neck and saw a man's face hovering above you. In fact you're sure of it. Light casts his face in half-shadow and he looks familiar to you. Blonde hair, compassionate blue eyes, scar on his cheek, an anxious expression on his face. Where have you seen him before? You try to ask him who he is and why he's cupping your cheek so tenderly, but he hushes you and presses a hand to your forehead. You feel safe. So you forget about questions and handsome blonde strangers and the throbbing in the back of your skull. Your eyes gently slip closed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The World Can Wait**

_Author's Note: Wow, I'm so gob smacked over the great reviews you guys have left and I'm most grateful! As a thank you I've decided to up load the next chapter a few days early :-)__ Oh and this is quite a long chapter too so I hope you enjoy it._

**4.48am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

You didn't have to tell him about your aches and pains. Not that you would have before; you're far too stubborn and he knows it. But he had noticed your soft grunts and subtle wriggling against the coarse ridges of the cheap motel mattress and then without a word he'd climbed up, arched over you, and gently rolled you onto your front. Now his hands were kneading the scarred skin of your lower back with practiced ease. Every few seconds he'd stop and trace the dip in your spine with the tip of one finger or bend forward to press sweet kisses to that same spot.

'You have the sexiest back I've ever seen,' Leon whispers.

You turn around and raise an eyebrow up at him, 'My back?'

'Yeah. It's my favourite part of you,' he grins broadly flashing his dimples, 'Though I've got a lot of great parts to choose from.'

'Why?' you ask rolling around to face him. His choice puzzles you.

Leon rocks back gently and shrugs, 'When we first met, I think your back was the only part of you I saw for more than a few seconds at a time. You have a habit of running off and don't give me that look, Ada. I know you wore those backless dresses for a reason.'

You laugh, 'Lie down.'

'Why?' he asks, but obeys all the same.

'Well I don't know which part of _you_ is my favourite,' your smile has a bittersweet flavour, tasting of the opportunities you've missed and those that your limited time together will deny you in the future, 'I'll need a closer inspection if I'm to make an informed choice.'

**April 9****th**** 2005, 11.34pm: Somewhere in Sicily**

You can't make out the rhythm you can hear when you wake up. It's a sort of one-two, one-two. Over and over and over again. It's giving you a headache. Or more accurately, fuelling the one you already have. It sounds like a gate being blown open and closed by a gust of wind. You can smell something rough and earthy surrounding you, sawdust perhaps? And you feel like you're moving but your bones are so heavy, they practically pin you to the floor. It's dark around you, but the corners and walls are spotted with pinpricks of light. Squinting slowly, you look around. You seem to be in some kind of shack, it's wooden, tall, practically empty and rocking gently from side to side. A train? How did you get on a train? Distantly you notice that your black tactical jacket is lying discarded by your side; its back is torn and singed. Your mind systematically flips through the past twenty-four hours, static images flash before you like photographs, flicking faster and faster transforming into jittery motion, like an old movie. And it hits you like a bullet between the eyes: Leon. Foolishly, you try to move, but pain spears your shoulder and back causing you to bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. The metallic taste of blood flows between your teeth and you remember an old adage from your days as a trainee: Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional. Swallowing a bitter chuckle, you inadvertently start a coughing fit that makes your body convulse against the hard wood floor.

'Ada?' you hear loud footsteps coming in your direction and you instinctively fumble for your weapon. As you grip the handle of the gun you feel another hand close over yours. The grasp isn't forceful; it's more of a touch than anything else.

'Hey, take it easy. We're inside a train compartment on the way to the station. I'll go find something to treat that wound. So just rest here in the meantime.'

You wince and reach up to cup his elbow, hauling yourself up to sitting position. You notice that his gear is in a pile in the corner.

'Leon?'

'Hey, I said take it easy. Is it just me or does everybody always ignore what I say?' you hear him chuckle as if he was remembering an old joke.

You open our eyes and gaze up at him sternly, 'What happened?'

'How much do you remember?'

_Sicily. Venus. Scientist. Key Card. Expendable. Sacrifice. Running. Virus!_

'Not much,' you mumble as your hand casually strokes against your abdomen. It brushes your side pack and you feel the reassuring bump of the vial of Venus toxin still in place.

Then you look up to find Leon watching you, his mouth curved into a cynical bow.

'It's still there. Don't worry about it,' he growls softly.

You open your mouth to reply but decide against it, locking your jaw in place defiantly.

Leon backs away to the end of the train carriage, becoming engulfed in the shadows. You hear rustling as he sets himself to some unspecified task. He likes to be kept busy; you've noticed that about him before.

Gently, but not without a few graceless stumbles, you stand up. Curling each fist into a ball to provide some measure of balance, you stride to the edge of the train carriage and peer through the small cracks that lacerate the side of the compartment. This carriage was empty but judging by the stale smell and discarded crates piled in the corner it was probably some kind of industrial transport making a night run. Through the small gaps you see nothing but deep cobalt darkness and the jagged sketch of the Sicilian mountains in the distance. The air smells like sea salt.

'I've found some blankets. They're not great but they'll do,' you hear Leon's voice behind you but you don't turn around. At least not until you hear him exclaim, 'Ada! You're bleeding again. Come here.'

You whip around to face him before staring sharply at your body and arms. They're a little bruised but nothing debilitating. And certainly no blood.

Leon approaches you and gently takes your forearms in his hands, 'No. Your back. It was injured in the explosion.'

You move your hand to the throbbing sensation on your lower back and feel the gapping hole torn in your back tactical outfit. Swearing softly at the sight of the blood that coats your fingertips, you pull away from Leon's hands, 'Thanks,' you mutter, 'I've got it.'

For a second you wonder if he's disappointed, but his face reveals nothing. He turns and retreats to the end of the carriage again. Within seconds he returns with a glass bottle and clean rag in his hands and sits on the floor. He motions for you to sit in front of him but you don't move.

He leans back and shrugs, 'We have all night and you know I don't get bored easily.'

'How long was I out?' you ask nonchalantly as you sit in front of him, legs curled under you. You're closer now and can see that the bottle is some kind of alcohol.

'For over an hour,' he replies as he gently lifts the back of your top. You hiss against the contact with your wounds and distantly wonder how bad they are. Leon's hands still instantly. You turn around and nod quickly as you reach to lift the material higher.

The sharp smell of alcohol swirls around you as Leon unscrews the cap.

'I don't have any first aid sprays. I found this in the back of the carriage, I hope it'll do,' he sighs.

His voice is strained and you realise he must be as tired as you are. Perhaps more so

'Were you able to get me here without having anymore trouble?' you ask, 'Did the antidote work?'

'I'm fine now. Thanks,' he replies tersely. It doesn't take long to remember why he's so pissed. He didn't get his hands on the sample of the virus. At least not in the way he had intended.

Leon's grip has an almost clinical efficiency as he moves along your back, blotting away the blood. Your head drops forward wearily, chin tucked into your chest. It's only the discomfort that keeps you awake as you ponder the past few hours. This is the longest stretch of time you've spent in Leon's presence since Raccoon City. You compare memories, phrases, looks, promises, and injuries. It's so similar yet so different, constantly shifting like a reflection in turbulent waters. Maybe now you can see how much he's changed and how much he's stayed the same. His attitude had been faltering, youthful even foolish before but now it was daunting. You remember the look in his eyes when you'd rejected his help just now, as well as the jovial but emotionally detached banter outside the main lab. It had been remarkable watching the walls slam shut around his soul, locking you out in the process. Remarkable and distressing. But most of all lonely. And you tell yourself that it doesn't matter. That it's better this way. That it'll make him a better agent. He'll stay alive even when you're no longer in a place to watch over him. It _is_ better this way, you have to believe that.

When his hands reach your upper back he pauses again, expert fingers suddenly lost and uncertain. Your lips curl into a smile and in one swift movement, you hoist your top clean over your head.

'Better?' you ask.

He doesn't answer straight away. You know he's probably processing the fact that you're not wearing anything underneath. Your face is the model of indifference. You've never been overly modest and you're both professionals after all.

'Yeah,' he replies huskily and gets back to work on your injured shoulders.

He finishes the job as efficiently as he had started it and you redress. Slowly. With measured concentration Leon takes his time screwing the cap onto the bottle and conveniently only looks up again when you're fully clothed. His face is composed but he is a little pink around the ears.

_Boy Scout_, you think smiling roguishly.

You reach for the bottle lying between his loose fingers. His eyes follow your movements and you meet his gaze with an expression of innocence and unassuming pragmatism. With your free hand you reach for him, he stiffens but doesn't turn away. The look in his eyes at the sight of your hands is spiked with fear, trepidation. It stings you. You slowly move to lift his charcoal black t-shirt above his abdomen, your fingers tracing the creases between his muscles.

'I've taken care of it,' he mutters, uncertainty peeping around the walls he'd so carefully constructed.

'It never hurts to have a second opinion,' you reply as you expose the skin of this torso, 'You know as well as I do that you're the kind of man that would happily forgo treatment to help someone else.'

And low and behold you find the wound that Venus had inflicted on him. It's been hastily wiped and is still sore.

It'll leave a scar to match the ones that will likely adorn your back from now on. The scars are a map of the sacrifices you've made for one another. You begin to thoroughly clean the injury feeling Leon flinch under your hands. You take a good look at him and notice the dark rings around his eyes and the pale tone of his skin that is exaggerated by the swimming shadows in the train compartment. His blonde hair has been darkened around its roots from the sweat of his exertions. He's not the handsome youth you bandaged up several years ago. His body is harder than you remembered and more masculine. He's beautiful. Your fingers spread along the plane of his torso flinching at the pulse that reverberates through it. You move to slip your hands away, but your fingertips can't help lingering to brush the light dusting of golden hair on his chest as you speak.

'I never thanked you for saving my life when Venus awoke. If you hadn't held that door open…'

Leon nods and crawls away from you to reach for the pile of blankets in the corner, 'I think we're even on this one.'

'I didn't know we were keeping score now,' you purr softly shoving the bottle and cloth out of the way.

He sets the blankets down in front of you, 'You better get some rest.'

'What about you?'

'I'm fine.'

'You look awful.'

Leon looks up at you sharply, 'I'll survive.'

You try not to feel hurt by his brisk attitude, 'Alright.'

As you arrange your weary body against the wall you hear a deep sigh.

'I'm sorry,' he says, eyes still fixed on the wall opposite.

Without replying, you simply watch him for a few seconds. He's several feet away from you now but from the look on his face he may as well be on another world entirely. You pick him apart with your eyes, chiselling away at the walls around him. You want the old Leon back, _your_ Leon. The good agent, the better man, scars and all. But you don't know what to say at a time like this. What can you possibly say to him after everything that's happened? You decide not to try at all.

'Why did you change your hair colour?' you ask softly, resting your chin on your shoulder.

Leon's head snaps up and the puzzled look on his face makes you want to chuckle.

'My hair?'

'You heard me didn't you?'

He eyes you playfully and shifts a little closer, 'I'm a natural blonde.'

'You weren't when I met you,' you point out, 'You were brunet with a hint of red when the lighting was right.'

He shrugs, 'I used to dye it when I was teenager. I continued to do so into my early twenties.'

'Why?'

'Do you really wanna hear this?' he asks incredulously, but his smile is genuine enough, the mirth finally reaching his eyes and infusing them with warmth.

'We have all night. And I don't get bored easily.'

Leon shakes his head and smiles ruefully, 'Okay. I'm the youngest of five boys in my family.'

'Five? Your mother was a hero.'

'You'd have…liked her,' he replies carefully, 'Anyway, my mom legally separated from her husband a year before I was born and met someone else. It was just a…fling I guess, but well...here I am.'

He shifts slowly, stretching his legs out in front of him, 'When mom got back together with her husband they decided to raise me as normal. But I guess I always felt a little different from my brothers. I mean it's hard enough as it is, being the youngest. You're last in a long line of first words, first steps, first homeruns. That's not to say I didn't matter, I was just… an anomaly.'

Your expression softens as you watch him, 'You really believe that don't you?'

'Yeah,' he replies earnestly with no hint of self-pity in his eyes, 'I was a blonde haired, blue-eyed kid in a family of brunets and redheads. I stood out and I used to dye my hair to fix that. So I'd match my brothers.'

'Why did you stop colouring it?'

'After…everything that happened, I guess I just threw myself into my work. Stuff like that didn't matter anymore. Plus I haven't seen much of my family since leaving the academy.'

You regard him carefully, eyes sweeping his face, 'Blonde suits you.'

Leon smiles broadly and nods. You resist returning the grin, but you feel your eyes burning as if in reaction to that smile of his. You feel disarmed so your gaze retreats to the safety of the floor.

'And your real father? What happened to him?' you ask.

'Married with three kids- all of them older than me I might add. His life quota was already full and now so is mine. Besides, my mom's husband was a good dad. Busy but…' he sighs and shakes his head, 'What about you? What were you like when you were younger?'

You're at a loss for words.

'That bad huh?' Leon asks smiling and ducking his head forward to capture your gaze.

'It was…nothing special,' you see disappointment in his expression, 'I never promised to swap life stories with you.'

He throws his hands up into the air, laughing bitterly, 'I didn't ask for a life story.'

'Then what _do_ you want?'

'To know something more about you than I know already. Something separate from all this,' he waves his hand to gesture wildly around the empty compartment, 'To have a conversation with you without being forced to remember that you're working for _him_.'

You watch the walls go back up again piece-by-piece, his tender soul withdrawing behind a 'no entry' sign.

'Why didn't you tell me you were alive?' he asks darkly.

You look away, 'It wouldn't have made a difference…'

'Don't!' he spits, 'Give me a real answer this time. Don't run away. I'm not asking you to defend your decision to me; I just want to know what you were thinking.'

'It's complicated. You wouldn't understand.'

He was edging closer to you now, cornering you in the edge of the compartment, 'Like hell I wouldn't.'

'Alright, I'll rephrase myself,' you raise your chin and look him square in the eye, 'You don't _need _to know. It doesn't concern you. You've grown up a lot Leon but this is still out of your league.'

His face is mere inches from yours now. You can smell the musky scent of his body and hear the soft rasps of his breathing. Your body tenses and your heart bounces an irregular tattoo in your chest. For a moment you wonder what he'd do if you simply walked away, hit him or drew your gun from the snug holster at your thigh. Wesker's orders bloom fresh in your head fuelled by anticipation and adrenaline. Leon's gaze is hard and you know that he'd match you stroke for stroke, word for word, blow for blow.

'Why do I even bother?' He frowns harshly, and settles back against the wall, now only two feet away from you. You briefly consider touching him, initiating the placating manoeuvres that would lead back to that smile again.

_Stop it! Enough of this. You've had your fun, now leave this alone before you both get hurt._

Resentment floods your tired mind as you push thoughts of remorse clean away. Leon has no idea what you'd been through in the past six years, what you still have to go through even now. He has no right to judge you! So what if he thinks you're cold-hearted? So what if he doesn't know that you're both fighting for the same side? Why should that matter in the grand scheme of things? You focus on finding the feeling in your legs again and begin to move. But before you're able to stand Leon's hand shoots out and touches your wrist with that same gentle grasp that you have always equated with him.

You stare at him inquisitively but it's several minutes before his eyes meet your face. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his features cycle through a myriad of emotions. Pain, longing, tenderness, desire. Emotions that you still feel are more of an affliction than an experience.

'Leon?' your voice is thick and not as calm as you had intended.

He tugs gently on your arm and you follow, slowly siding up next to him. His heat covers one side of your body as his fingers caress your wrist in light circles. You bring your right hand up to trace the line of his mouth, his cheek and the bridge of his nose. His chin is roughened by stubble and feels deliciously coarse on the soft skin of your hands. He sighs against your touch and you feel his breath at your fingertips, so alive. You'd never let him become as real to you as he was at that moment and he fascinates you. He was no longer a mission objective, a variable among variables, a footnote in your reports, a personification of lost chances. He is just 'now'. The past and the future colliding to this one moment. And this awareness of the here and now reverberates through you stretching onwards infinitely, a moment without origin and without conclusion. Passion roars in the pit of your stomach, spiralling up towards your heart. The intensity shocks you and you attempt to pull away. And you would have ripped yourself from him there and then, perhaps brushing his affection away with a cool glance or a teasing smile. Perhaps you would have said something witty or cruel or dismissive to push him away. You're not sure what you would have done and you'll never get the chance to find out. All thoughts of retreat are scattered like dust when he kisses you.

The kiss isn't what you had expected. It's chaste and slow, as if his lips have all the time in the world. He nips at your mouth gently as if testing your response. You curl your hand around the back of his head and grab a fist full of his golden hair, teasing it between your fingertips. His hand moves across your wrist, wandering up your arm to the crook of your elbow and around the delicate curve of your shoulder. As he reaches around to cup your breast you draw your face away from him. Your nose is barely an inch away from his and you're both breathing heavily, despite the languid pace of your kiss.

Within seconds your gaze is drawn up to his breathtaking eyes, their blue darkened to a deep navy by low light and desire. Splinters of light from outside streak his skin, only to be softened by shadows when the moon ducks under the clouds. The sight of him has a trancelike quality as the darkness of the carriage paints you both in shades of grey. The thumping of your heart drowns out the racket of the train. You know that this is dangerous, that this could cost you so much, that this could shatter the world of mirrors you had so carefully constructed all your life. And the funny thing is that whilst you're thinking all these thoughts and warnings, you're leaning forward and kissing him again anyway.

_If this is the way the world ends, then so be it. _

His mouth opens willingly under yours and you taste him completely for the first time. He's sweet and tender just as you'd always imagined, but there's more, a deep chocolate passion that warms your mouth. Without a word you both rise up onto your knees, your lips never parting. His hands grasp your hips and pull you hard against him and you dig your nails into the hard muscles of shoulders. You hear him growl against your mouth as you drag your teeth against his bottom lip. Your hands cup his face and you focus on discovering his lips, the rocking of the carriage echoing the soft strokes of your tongue and the tender dance of his fingers along your sides as he begins to undress you. The material of your vest comes into contact with the raw skin of your back and you hiss sharply. Leon pulls away concerned, but you pull him back towards you fiercely to claim him again. Your hands leave his face and press against the flat plane of his stomach, marvelling at the powerful thud of his heartbeat.

'Ada?' he whispers against your lips.

Drawing away from him, you whip your top over your head and throw it aside, marvelling at the longing that meets you in his expression. You begin to tug at the fabric of his t-shirt till he obliges you by removing it completely and kissing you hungrily once more.

In the past sex had been a tool, simply one of many. A single piece of the machine that you were for most of your life. You'd discovered it early, curious of its power, its simplicity, and its almost faultless success. And it was the success that excited you more than the act itself. But now there's no task to complete, no one to deceive, and this why the hands that shape your abdomen and breasts with such reverence and desire feel alien to you. You shiver against his touch and respond by mirroring his actions, using his body as your canvas. His mouth feeds on the column of your neck and you groan against his actions, your lips still needing his. You rise to your feet, pulling him up with you. He follows you, your movements are one. The rocking of the train causes you to sway against him and he holds you close, his arms around your shoulders in deference to the wounds on your back. Slowly, you slip out of the rest of your clothes, your eyes never losing contact with his. He mimics your actions and you stare back at him, your fingers rising to trace his narrow hips and your eyes appraising him with boundless and candid fascination.

You push him to his knees and run your hands through his hair. He smirks up at you, eyes squinting through the dark to find you, before dipping his head forward and treating your navel to the sensation of his tongue and teeth, whilst his strong and clever hands busy themselves along the inside of your thighs. You whimper as you arch against him and press his face even closer to your body and you almost tumble backwards to the floor. His growl of satisfaction rumbles through your abdomen like an earthquake.

A plea for completion erupts inside of you and, without thinking, you lower yourself to straddle him. He's shocked by the speed of your actions, but answers your need with a deep and tender kiss. You push him to the floor of the carriage and only remember the deep cut on his side when he winces. Tipping forwards you apologise with a soft flick of your tongue against his lips. He eagerly accepts with a groan as you journey along, around and against him, your mouth tracing the path of his body with deep-seated curiosity leaving rose-coloured bites in its wake. You've wanted him like this for so long that your desire feels almost timeless; born into you, intuitive like breathing, like crying. His soft grunts and cries are a guide as you learn him, revel in each success and sensation, a taste so completely him.

His hands grasp your forearms and drag you back to him. The sight that greets you steals your breath. His hair is nearly silver in the fading light, contrasting to the black of your tresses like stars against the ebony pitch of the sky. You lean forward, your nose kissing his.

'Tell me this is really happening. Tell me this isn't a dream.' he whispers, his lips barely moving. If you were any farther away you wouldn't have heard him at all.

You gaze at him unblinkingly and smile in delicate amusement, 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

Without pause you lower your body down onto his and take him inside you, swallowing a gasp as you begin to move. His hands pinch your hips and gently guide you. Your lips lose their tenuous precision as you grace his chin and cheek with clumsy kisses and dainty nibbles. Pleasure charges inside you like a current sparking against your nerve endings and feeding your immeasurable hunger for completion and for him. You ignore the bruising of your knees against the hard floor or the harsh bite of his fingers into your thighs.

_If this is a dream, you're dreaming it together._

He throws back his head and calls for you, your name colliding with the walls of the cabin. Your spine curves as you arch over him and in mere seconds you join him in that endless freefall. Emotion beats against you like surf rushing through grains of sand, slipping between the cracks of your worn soul. You tumble against him, completely spent, a delicious purring sensation in the base of your stomach.

Your eyes are tightly closed, sealed by exhaustion and tears, but you can feel him gently manoeuvring you to rest against his right side thus avoiding his wound. Remorse arises in the back of your mind as you remember his physical state and seconds later you recall the shallow lacerations on your back as well as the cold breath of the night air against your sweat-drenched skin. The drugging affects of adrenaline and lust ebb away leaving raw pain in their wake. You shiver. Leon stretches an arm out past you and you feel him drape one of the blankets he had found across your shoulders. It's heavy and smells decades old, but it's the least of your worries now. Leon's fingers move tentatively to caress your hair in a slow rhythm that lulls you half to sleep. You lie unmoving against him as your nose presses into his chest inhaling sweat, sugar and sex, and you feel almost guilty for this indulgence as your mind begs you to recoil, to rise and to run. But as his breathing shallows, his fingers still and his muscles loosen, you allow yourself to sink into him and accept this fleeting gift that fate has offered you, if only for the next few hours. The real world can wait till morning.

**April 10****th**** 2005, 3.54am: A train carriage, somewhere in Sicily**

And now you're awake. The silence is overwhelming. There's no discernable improvement in your physical state compared to the previous night but at least you are well rested. The train is still and aglow with the rosy light of the Sicilian morning. You arc your stiff neck backwards and lift your head. Your chin comes to rest on his chest, rising and falling with his every breath. Leon's eyelids flicker, he mumbles something you can't quite make out and he stirs against you, his legs tangling around yours even tighter than before. He's still inside of you and the connection buzzes with unnerving physicality. It's the only thing that has stopped you from rising and leaving right away. But now he's squirming beneath you and you remember how time flies. You don't spare the time to mentally berate yourself for your selfishness and your eager indulgence, instead you pull together an explanation… a defence for your behaviour the previous night. You slip away from him with deft precision and your body trembles at the loss of his warmth. Your clothes are stubbornly tangled with his on the floor beside your makeshift bed. You carry your gear a full five meters away from his sleeping form and begin to shrug the garments on, listening carefully for any sign of movement outside. You hear nothing but the distant smacking of gravel against car tires in the distance.

Your vest and underwear are back on when you hear a rustling of cloth behind you. You spin around to find Leon awake, naked and standing, reaching almost sheepishly for his clothes. It arouses a strong compulsion within you to laugh but you settle for raising an eyebrow up at him. He pauses and tosses you a tight smile before looking pointedly away and slowly beginning to dress.

You smile wearily to yourself. Perhaps this was for the best after all. You've known for a long time that he had…an attachment to you. Perhaps now that his curiosity was sated, among other things, he could move on. Your mind wanders over the possibilities for what could happen next and you idly shape Leon's ideal woman like a potter with a ball of clay. Someone loyal, grounded, undemanding, painless. Someone who could give him exactly what a man like him was designed for and would excel at- a future. Soberly, and with much cursing under your breath, you continue to dress.

'Ready?' he asks, now fully clothed and bending over to tighten his boots.

You slip your tactical vest gently onto your raw back, 'There are at least two people outside. They don't sound like a threat but I didn't come this far to be spotted.'

Leon nods and checks his weapon.

'Can you get back safely?' you ask, tightening your belt.

'Yeah. You?'

'Mmm.'

With that you move to grasp the door of the carriage with your gloved hand.

'Ada wait.'

'What?' you almost hiss back him. You're suddenly tired again. You want to go back to a warm bed, an empty bed, an uncomplicated bed. Any bed without him.

'I can't let you leave with the sample,' his gaze on you is unwavering, 'I told you that before.'

You turn slowly to face him, hands hovering close to your weapon. You notice Leon has not taken the chance to arm himself and you wonder if he's decided to take the diplomatic route or if he's just foolish.

'I saved your life.'

'Yeah, ditto,' he smirks humourlessly back at you.

'This will get us nowhere,' you fold your arms across your chest defiantly, 'For the next few days the Venus anti-venom will still be in your blood stream. There are no samples of _that_ left in existence. That should be a good enough for your superiors.'

'And how am I supposed to explain why I have it inside me in the first place without mentioning that I let you go again?'

'Be creative.'

Leon almost scowls at you, 'I could just take it you know.'

'You'd have to kill me for it,' you whisper and turn away from the shock and faint disgust in his eyes to pull back the compartment door.

'And what about..?' he stops midway as if cursing himself for even bringing it up.

Without facing him again, you sigh deeply and your eyes roll towards the sunrise beyond the carriage door, 'No matter what happens between us, the end result will _always_ be the same. Goodbye Leon.'

He doesn't answer as you jump gracefully out of the train and walk away. You follow the tracks for a few yards and eventually reach the main station. It's practically empty. A solitary figure wearily pushes a broom along the opposite platform. Your footsteps are measured and quiet as you round the next corner. You know that Wesker and Shaw are waiting for your phone calls.

As you turn into an empty lane alongside the main building you almost collide with a figure blocking your path. You instinctively shove him away, propelling him towards the opposite wall. But his hands shoot out and pull you along with him.

'Leon! What are you doing? Are you trying to get us both killed?' you gasp, an angry frown marring your face.

Leon meets your stare with a look of passionate resolve, 'Tell me you want me go right now. Tell me that what we have is nothing and I'm outta here. I just have to know this time. I need to be able to move on from you. You're all I think about. You're like a part of me I can't let go and I can't go another six years just _wondering_. You're killing me Ada.'

Your voice withers in your throat as you stare him down. The answers that you attempt to throw together scatter like frightened birds. Part of you is prepared for the sacrifice of separating from him for good but another part of you is already grieving for that loss. Right now you can barely remember how to breathe, let alone make a decision.

Leon seems more frightened than relieved at your inability to toss him away, and your heart echoes those feelings. But it's not long before a slow smile adorns his lips.

'Are you scared?' he laughs shakily, his fingers tightening on your arms. It hadn't occurred to you to pull away, though you could have quite easily, 'Come on. Tell me what you're thinking for once.'

'I can't,' you reply earnestly, 'You know I can't.'

He closes his eyes and leans forward, nose brushing yours and lips a breath away, 'Then at least give me a proper goodbye.'

---

_Next update should be on Friday._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Set the Fire to the Third Bar**

_Author's Note: Thank you all once again for the reviews! hugs everyone _

_I've named this chapter after my favourite Snow Patrol song. It's a song that actually reminds me of Leon and Ada, especially the lines:_

_I'm miles from where you are,  
I lay down on the cold ground  
I pray that something picks me up  
And sets me down in your warm arms_

**5.01am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

The thought surfaces in your mind like an ember leaping from a slow blazing fire.

_Leon doesn't know when your birthday is. _

He doesn't know what your real name is either. He doesn't know where you were born, what your parents did for a living, or even how old you are. But you know all those things about him. This disparity of knowledge between you both doesn't bother you in the slightest. Leon had questioned you constantly about your past during your relationship. First in sly, subtle hints dropped during casual conversations in the middle of post-apocalyptic nightmares. Then his tone became more direct, gentle but earnest. Then later frustrated, grim and resigned to you dodging his attempts to know more about your past. More recently he'd started to ask in a jovial, self-deprecating tone of voice as though your silence was a private joke that you both shared.

But now there are no questions at all. It's not because he has given up caring. Quite the opposite. It's just that what he has learned about you, what you have learned about each other, is unsaid. The trivial details of life, the past, the present, the 'normal' things are utterly dwarfed by the commitment you have made to one another. And that commitment is your future. Until now you didn't think you had one. Your days are still numbered of course, but now you both have something more to fill those final days, something beyond honour, beyond duty and beyond words. You have something unspoken.

**July 21****st**** 2005, 11.45pm: An Alleyway, Chicago**

Perhaps it's down to instinct- the way your eyes rove around the shadowy network of streets, seeking out the dark figures that lurch from place to place, seeking out the neon warmth of the crowded bars like drunken bees. You don't feel as though you're in danger from the stumbling drunks or the loud, candescent women that cackle alongside them. But you tighten your jacket around your chest and duck into a dark corner anyway.

_11.46pm_

It's just as you remember it. The sights, the noise, and the frosty, tinny smell of night time, like the air is laced with silver and stars. It's been so long since you were last in Chicago. In fact you'd given the place a wide berth for years. The city was saturated with memories of deceit, of work, of sacrifice. And of Jon. Memories are not ethereal. They're as real and as physical as you are, their impacts as powerful as a fist or a caress, littering your life with blows and kisses. A sight, a sound, a touch, a smell, the cracked sidewalk beneath your feet or the sign above the deli you'd always loved- you're being crushed under memories.

_11.49pm_

The chill is biting at your cheeks and fingers now, your body shivers and anticipates the storm that's gathering above you, the clouds growling as they approach. Far above your head you hear several voices; layered noise in the apartment blocks that spiral into the sky. Arguments, laughter, nonsense. And you long to leave the racket, to allow it to chase you out the alleyway and back to your cosy hotel room in the more affluent part of the city. But to hell with it. You're staying; you're not moving a muscle. Ada Wong doesn't run until she gets the answers she's after.

_And you sure have a lot of questions don't you Ada?_ Your thoughts sneer back at you.

And in truth you know that these questions have been building inside of you for the past three and a half months when everything became just that little bit more complicated.

It had been easy at first. Almost as though your agreement with him had been conducted wordlessly through that kiss at the train station in Palermo. A passionate and fevered contract between two adults who enjoyed each other and didn't feel the need to justify it to anyone- not even to themselves.

_11.59pm- where is he?_

You'd meet Leon every week or so between missions and trekking across the globe. There would be times of course when you'd cross paths with him in the middle of a jaunt in Turkmenistan, Bulgaria or Minsk. You'd both engage in your own exceptional form of foreplay, the gun-welding, shit-kicking kind that would leave you gasping for air and primed for destruction, your blood saturating your skin with a glowing rosy blush and a sticky heat. But you wouldn't touch him. Not there. Not on a mission. You'd exchange barbs, dodge bullets and outrun danger with him, but you couldn't bring yourselves to endanger your mission to satisfy your cravings. Your job had been your life, your death and now it was your rebirth. And second chances only came once if you were lucky. You know you aren't going to get a third. And that realisation strikes you again and again, every time you glance at your watch. You are being reckless. You play at respectability, at professionalism in the real world but right here and right now you're in a world that you have created. A precarious, delicate shell that you throw around both yourself and Leon when you meet like this.

Motel rooms in Paris for an hour with the lights extinguished, the backseat of your jeep on a dusty road between Huston and nowhere, the cloaking darkness of a German nightclub. Soft, stale beds, empty corners, tight spaces, the cold, the wet or the dry heat that is soothed by wandering fingers and ardent lips. Your hands would find his and guide him to that shell, the safety that only anonymity and wordless, perfect pleasure can provide for those few minutes. You'd even been able to hide your condition from him, attributing your shaking hands and exhaustion to stress and greedily devouring his body as a remedy for the pain. The encounters had almost always been frantic; investing the few hours you had been able to steal from your working lives into satiating your desires. And he was remarkable, more than you had realised before.

The affair had lasted longer than you had expected. The physical and emotional sensations were drugging you. You couldn't remember the last time you had been so adored, so desired, so complete. You needed him and you wanted him- a devastating combination. Nevertheless, you had hoped that either one of you would have the strength to call time on your extra-curricular activities eventually. To rip the tiny, temporary band-aid from the gapping wound over your souls in one quick and painless movement. But every time, without fail, you'd pull back from telling him that this was the last time, the last time that you'd return his passionate kisses, revel in his embrace, lose yourself in his touch and drink in his adoration.

'_Ada, what is this?'_

_His tender, whispered plea had caressed your cheek as you'd lain curled against him, the bubble of your little world tightening around you both, suffocating you in that Parisian motel room only a month or so ago. You had kissed him gently on the lips, averting your eyes from the confusion and agony in his expression. He wants to understand the impossible._

'_This is us,' you had replied softly, pulling away to leave, 'This is just us.'_

_And I don't want to lose you._

But perhaps now you have done just that.; lost him somewhere in the disarray and confusion of reality. You had sent him the encoded message days ago:

'I need to see you.'

But now it was 12.06am and he hadn't turned up. Every time you had arranged to meet in the past three months there had been an implicit understanding that whoever reached the rendezvous point first would wait no longer than ten minutes for the other to show. It was too dangerous to hang around any longer. If anyone discovered what you were doing your lives would be forfeit- no ifs, ands or buts. That was the penalty and it was one you'd never allow Leon to pay. You'd been waiting for 21 minutes now. Twice as long as you'd intended and yet you couldn't pull yourself away and admit defeat. You were disgusted with yourself, with your actions, with your jealous attachment to something you couldn't afford to have.

It had all begun two weeks previously. You had been sifting through the stack of papers on your desk, reviewing your next mission files. Beirut, Lebanon. The towering ruins of a Mediterranean city, sun bleached walls, ageless facades holding together several turbulent international organisations. But unbeknown to the rest of the world, at least a dozen of the men and women that wandered those carpeted halls and shook hands with their dry, faceless contemporaries were on Wesker's payroll and bedfellows with 'S'. The thought of exchanging information with them revolted you. You'd watch their wide-eyed, anxious stares as they shoved a data stick into your hands, grabbed the suitcase filled with money from your lap and left with their bounty, a fortune that was dwarfed by the price the world was paying for their betrayal and support of 'S'- it wasn't your idea of a rewarding trip. You had no time for cowards.

As you had turned to reach for your cell phone- not _that_ one, the _other_ one, that special one that Wesker didn't know about- you had noticed the date on your calendar. July 7th. Thursday July 7th, 10.42pm. Leon's birthday. It was Leon's 28th birthday. The thought had come out of nowhere. A pleasant realisation, a tiny piece of trivia that would make you pause in the middle of your day and smile. You had sat staring at the calendar for a few moments, the block letters waving slightly before your eyes. He was 28 today. Twenty-eight. And he hadn't told you. You had seen him just a few days before in a small hotel in New Mexico where you'd listened to him talk for over an hour about his days at the academy and that instructor he hadn't been able to stand. It had been a rare indulgence. But he hadn't said a word about his birthday. Your smile had faded and the bubble had burst.

_Why should it matter?_ You'd asked yourself as you'd reached for the calendar and flipped it down face first on your desk. _It shouldn't matter. Perhaps it doesn't matter to him either. Maybe he doesn't celebrate his birthday. Seriously Ada, when was the last time you blew out several candles on a cake?_

A sudden loneliness had coiled itself around you at that moment. An emptiness that you knew you shared with Leon. Perhaps that was what fuelled your passion for one another- you're two kindred souls travelling everywhere but belonging nowhere, your ardent affair an oasis in the desert. You had seen his face in your mind's eye. That boyish smile that graced almost a decade of pain and loss. Those wide, cobalt blue eyes would sweep your face and eagerly lap up the fleeting haven from the solitude that your presence and your understanding could give to him.

Within moments you had gathered up your car keys, your coat and your gun- the only possessions in that hotel room that you cared about- and driven the 126 miles from Philadelphia to Washington to let those blue eyes of his drink you in again. You hadn't had time to get him a birthday gift, but you had been sure that you could think of something to do to make up for that. You smirk remembering that Leon had always admired your creativity.

You'd arrived at Leon's apartment at around 1.30 the next morning and found that all the lights were out. You had known that he usually worked late into the night, just like you did, so you surmised that he was out, perhaps chasing up on a lead. You had been disappointed and within a few minutes you had turned away from his apartment to head back to the car that you had parked several blocks away. It was then that you had heard the soft growl of a taxicab pull slowly up alongside the building. You had been across the street at the time and you could barely make out the dark figure that had eased from the cab. But you had heard his voice and that had been enough. _Leon_. He was home.

'Here. Thanks a lot man. Yeah, goodnight.' 

A furtive smile had adorned your lips as you had watched him. The dark silhouette of the body you knew so well. But the feeling hadn't lasted very long. He hadn't been alone. There had been two bodies spilling from that cab, one of them had a slight and pleasing figure, had giggled brightly and draped her arms around Leon. He had returned the gesture and walked with her up the steps to his apartment block, both of them swaying slightly in tandem with the young woman's clumsy stride. A sharp tension had wrung the blood from your heart before a thought or a reaction could even form in your tired mind. The apartment door had shut with an ear-splitting snap that had echoed along the deserted street.

Just when I thought he had lost the ability to surprise me.

Smiling softly in morbid amusement, you had closed your eyes and turned away. You had decided at that moment that you'd stop this foolishness. That you'd end this childish, unbefitting behaviour and focus on the task at hand. No more bubbles, no more expectations, no more fanciful plans. _Who do you think you are? Who do you think you work for? There is no 'mine', there is no 'private'._ _You had never agreed that this would be exclusive. It is what it is- a diversion from the darkness, nothing more. When did you forget that? _You had slammed the car door, bruising your fist in the process, and viciously shoved the keys into the ignition. It was all you could do not to scream. _Embarrassed, resentful, stupid._

You had seen him again a few days later, at a warehouse in Los Angeles that you had used with him twice before. It was micro-self-storage, empty and lined with ranks of chain-link fences that had rattled and clashed when he'd made love to you against them during both of those meetings. There were crates stacked in the corner that you had both sat on as he had talked to you about his family, about his life growing up in Boston. Those stories were surprisingly amusing, a window into a timeless world. You had marvelled at the ability of the past to put the brakes on the future. Staring at those crates you realised how much you had come to enjoy those stolen moments. You may have withdrawn from him physically again and again but your soul had always stayed right there beside him soaking up his attention…his affection. And the thought of him giving that gift to someone else sparked every territorial urge in your body and eclipsed your ability to push the pain away. And as selfish and unfeasible as it was, you didn't want to share him, you wanted to be a part of his life, to claim him for good.

'It was your birthday a few days ago.'

Leon had gaped at you dumbfounded, 'You knew that?'

'Obviously,' you had replied dryly, 'You hadn't mentioned it before.'

'It's not usually a big deal. I guess I forgot. Besides,' he had shrugged, 'what difference would it have made?'

'I went to see you at your apartment. You weren't there,' the words had tumbled from your lips.

His cynical grin had softened and he had taken a step towards you, 'I'm…sorry. A couple of the guys at work found out and dragged a few others and me to some bar. I didn't get back till late. How…how long did you wait?'

'Long enough to see you come home,' you had been impressed at your ability to sound so flippant, 'and I'm curious. Who was she?'

He had looked as shocked as you had felt at the question. For a moment you had wondered if you had really spoken at all or if someone else had rudely budged into your little tête-à-tête.

'A friend,' he had seemed slightly amused and that had made you even angrier, 'Why do you ask? Unless you're a little jealous…'

You had laughed softly, tossing your head dispassionately, 'I'm merely curious. I told you.'

'Right,' he had nodded looking away and rolling his eyes.

'It's not my business what or _who_ you do in your own time'

'Wait…are you implying that I…slept with her? I didn't!' he had insisted, wrapping his long fingers gently around your forearm, 'Nothing happened between Claire and me. She was just visiting and came out with us. She was too drunk to get back to her hotel so I let her sleep over.'

You had eyed him cynically and gently extracted your arm from his hand, 'You don't owe me an explanation.'

'Then why did you ask for one?'

'Curiosity.'

'Yeah, curiosity that drove you several miles to my home!' he had exclaimed.

You had folded your arms across your chest, 'I was on the way to a meeting. Wesker usually contacts me after dark.'

It had been a cheap shot and you would have regretted it, if not for his reaction. His face had darkened, cheeks flushed with red. He'd been jealous. He'd been threatened. It had pleased you.

'Nice,' he had replied tightly, 'You're right I don't owe you anything. We never said that this would be anything but casual. It can't afford to be, can it? If I can be causal with you then there's no reason why I can't be causal with anyone else.'

'I didn't think you were the type.'

'Things _change_ Ada,' he had run a shaking hand through his hair, sweeping away the golden locks that had fallen over his eyes, 'For example, almost two months ago you turned up at my hotel room in Florida and without a word led me straight to the bedroom. You left half an hour later without so much as a "thanks". And now you're keeping tabs on me! When the _hell_ did I become your property?'

You had bitten down hard on your bottom lip. It was all you could do not to shout back at him that you had driven three hours in the rain to meet him that night in Florida and then four hours back to catch the plane that would whisk you away on your next godforsaken mission and away from him for several weeks. You had done it because those thirty minutes were all that was keeping you alive, were all that could break through the pain, were all that could focus you. But as you had watched him stand in front of you, all you could feel was weakness and hate scorching your skin.

_So stupid. What have you done to yourself?_

'Ada? Why don't you trust me?' he asks huskily, 'Why do you keep pushing me away but expect me to come running back? I'm not sure how much longer I can go on this way.'

'I have work to do,' you had replied mechanically, 'I'm sure you do too. Bars to crawl, young women to take home…'

'Damn it! Stop it. I told you what happened,' his voice was tainted with hurt and resentment; you had felt the pain like it was your own. But you were too furious with yourself to stop.

'Then you lied to me.'

His head had snapped up and he had almost scowled at you. You had turned your back on him.

'I'm not the one with a history of deceit,' he had spat back at you darkly, 'You are.'

Blanching, you had spun to face him, an angry reply burning on your lips just begging to be released. Instead you had swallowed it, letting it drop into the base of your stomach to rot like a cancer. You had turned away and left him.

Now you were waiting in the damp, sticky night to see him again. To apologise, if only while you still had the chance. You couldn't be comfortable leaving things the way they were and in truth you had missed him. You had missed Leon.

_12.17am_

The sky fractures miles above you letting loose a cascade of icy water, and miles away a thunderous roar answers the flashes of light that illuminates the tiny corner of your Chicagoan alleyway. The water spills along the rooftops, falling in crystalline sheets over the lip of the small shelter above your head. It's an urban waterfall. You breathe in the heavy scent of a city drowning under water and close your eyes against the errant raindrops that flick at your cheeks and lips. You can see lights passing behind your closed eyelids- street lamps and cars blinking through the downpour. You're tired of waiting. Just so tired.

_Why are you surprised? He kisses your cheek, you spit in his face. Isn't that standard operations procedure for the two of you anyway? And like he said, he can't keep doing that forever._

You open your eyes and turn to exit the empty back street. The water drenches your hair, slipping like frosty fingers through the strands before sliding down your neck. You look up through the heavy deluge and spot a figure in the rain. He's walking towards you, slowly. The water blurs him, half dissolving him in front of you till you're almost sure he's just a phantom. Curling your hand around the knife in your pocket you feel your breath come in shuddering jolts, condensing in front of you in thick, white gasps. You stand your ground, eyes narrowing defiantly.

'Ada?'

He's here. A relief, bizarre and beautiful, you can feel it, almost taste it. In mere seconds he's standing just inches from you, his heavy jacket weighed down from the rain and his hair so wet it's dyed almost copper. Dark rings bunch under his eyes. He hasn't been able to sleep either. You're disturbed at how sallow his skin is and you have to force yourself to concede that it's just the dull light of the street lamp that is making it so. It can't be your fault. You haven't done this to him or to yourself. It's not your fault. It can't be. His normally keen gaze seems worn and broken, his focus waning before your eyes. But despite how exhausted he seems he's the one that makes the first move, lifting a hand and wiping the rainwater from your lips with his thumb. The single gesture is so deeply intimate that it makes you tremble more violently than the Chicago night or the turbulent memories that it held. Tonight you would make some new memories, memories to wipe out the old, to wash them away like small ships in a storm.

You reach up to his grasp shoulders, fingers sinking into the soggy fur collar of his coat, and you stretch up to your tiptoes to press your lips to his. He accepts you as always, eagerly and without condition, as he thrusts his hand into your hair and drags you impossibly closer. His arm acts a brace behind you crushing you against him. You press your teeth into his bottom lip and allow the rain to flavour your kisses, his warm body an antidote for the chill of the air that surrounds you. Stepping backwards you pull him blindly into the darkness and back under the small shelter by the weak and flickering lamplight. Spinning him around you break the kiss and shove him against the brick wall. His expression is complete surprise but you simply grin back at him playfully.

_That's what you get for keeping a lady waiting, Kennedy._

You reach for the buttons of your jacket and let it fall from your frame and gather in a limp pile at your feet. You're wearing a red satin blouse (buttoned only halfway), a short black skirt (that snugly cups your hips) and your favourite black boots (suede, knee-high, devastating). His eyes are almost navy in the low light, wide and lusty; He's missed this. So you kiss him again, a slow and listless pace as you nuzzle into his warmth, fingers pulling apart the cloth that bars you from his body. Leon's hands gather you close and shove apart the crimson silk at the base of your throat to capture your heartbeat in his palm. With almost tentative curiosity, his hand pushes apart the lace at your chest and indulges itself with the feel of your skin. A deep, guttural moan stirs from within you and you arch against him, licking the bitter raindrops from his chin. In one fluid movement he turns you and holds you against the wall, the hard bricks pressing into your back. You're shuddering now, your cheeks are painted a deep red and you can barely stop yourself from snatching him back against you, demanding that he admit that he's yours. You had made a life out of having nothing. Your survival, your very existence, is in a vice grip, whether that be Wesker's or Shaw's or both. But for now you have something that's all yours.

_Mine. Only mine. No one else can have this._

Leon lifts you against him, bracing you against the wall. His gaze is achingly tender as his free hand, cold and shuddering, caresses your face. Leaning forwards, you gift him with light kisses across his mouth, silently urging him on. He grasps your hips in a bruising grip and takes you. You gasp, instinctively wrap your thighs around his waist and kiss him fervently, your movements in concert with his. Your heart quakes in your chest almost splintering against your ribs. The storm above you swallows the sound of your cries, as you both shatter into a million pieces in each other's arms. The lightening above is nothing compared to the light show that is going on behind your eyelids at this very moment.

_I'm sorry. I trust you. I need you. I'm sorry._

A hundred conversations and a thousand promises pass between the both of you, though in reality you haven't uttered a word.

You have no idea how long you've been like this. Huddled in the dank, stale corner of a back alley, your clothes are soaked and Leon's jacket is the only thing protecting you both from the remnants of the storm. His face is against yours, your noses kissing in the dark. His breaths are all you can hear as you doze in his embrace, braced against the cold and the emptiness for a few short moments. You're playing hide and seek with time now and as the afterglow fades Leon tenses in your arms. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, eyes wary, filled with familiar regret and grief. The game is over once again. Time has found you both, sought you out in the darkened corners to sweep you along and blow you apart like brittle leaves in the wind.

You slip from his arms and he tenses as if resisting out of instinct but in a second he lets you go. Leon helps you put your coat back on and tightens the collar securely around you. He smiles down at you, warm, loving and just a little bit smug.

_Next week. I promise. I'm not giving you up._

You eye him thoughtfully and glide gracefully from his hold, your hand lingering at his wrist for an instant. Without looking back you saunter from the alley and turn into the deserted streets, a ghostly smile forming on your mouth. The pleasant humming of your body spurs you on, lifting you with grace through the haze of the night. And distantly, in the far corners of your mind a memory is born, bursting into existence with light and sensation. It was a bond beyond action, beyond faith, beyond words. It was there for when words became too painful. Maybe one day, one day soon (it had to be soon whether you liked it or not) you'd call time on all this and say goodbye. But not now. Not tonight.

_Thanks for reading guys! I'll try to get the next chapter up by Thursday._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: In a Mirror Darkly**

_Author's Note__: Sorry I'm a day late but I had some Internet trouble :(_

_First of all, saying 'thank you' to you all seems like too big of an understatement. I really don't know what to say to all of you reviewers. You guys made me laugh and even cry a little, which was kind of embarrassing since I use a public Internet Cafe to read my reviews :)_

_A few replies-_

_List of Romantics: Aww, you flatter me muchly with your lovely and beautifully written reviews! I'm all giggly now._

_Alaska: Leon is definitely a softie, I agree :3_

_VGJunky158: Wow. When I saw such a long review for my fic I first thought that there'd been some kind of mistake, but then I read it and I was very moved! You have a wonderful way of expression yourself. I'm just so glad that people here are enjoying my story as much as I've enjoyed many fan fictions in the past. _

_Daisuke C: That was my favourite part of the chapter too!_

_gin-neko66__: Thanks! I'm actually writing another Leon/Ada story now. It'll probably be quite a long story and will be set after RE2. And I'm co-writing another Leon/Ada story with __Donatien Valiarde, so there should be plenty of Leon/Ada from me in the future._

_Oh, and lastly a big thanks to Google and Wikipedia for the historical information that I used to put this next mission together._

**5.22am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

She's practically a stranger, the woman that sits on the other side of the glass in front of you. Her hair is honey-blonde, a shock of colour that is almost silver in the dusk, not the glossy black it was several months ago. She's worn and thin, her eyes shadowed around their edges and peeping out from below the collar of her robe are several small lesions that branch out into a network of red scars and purple bruises. Your eyes widen in shock for an instant before your face settles into a serene and detached mask. It's been days since you've let yourself really look at her and you had had no idea that it the symptoms had…progressed so much in just a few hours. You'd purposely avoided seeing this woman, pushed her under layers of clothing and moved from place to place outrunning the present with your arms outstretched to the future. But she's back now. You can't escape her because that woman is _you_. The woman you really were, this drawn, pale figure in the mirror in front of you, has caught up with you.

You had never viewed yourself as vain, though you guess no one ever really does. But as your body had become your own personal sand-timer, slowly slipping away every second that passed, you had found it harder and harder to watch. Irony is always painful and denial doesn't solve anything.

You reach out a hand to the dress that lies in your lap, the black silk splayed across your legs and brushing the floor below. You've never worn this outfit before. You'd chosen it especially for your final mission several years ago when you had made a decision, in front of another mirror no less, to let go of your past and embrace your future. The dress slips through your fingers as you trace the embroidered butterfly stitched into the fabric. The design is plain black, dark, unspectacular. But beauty and symmetry were not the core of the butterfly. Your motive for choosing this sign is deeper than that. The butterfly wouldn't be so spectacular if she didn't fly, or if she didn't slip through the net or above all if she didn't go through an anguished metamorphosis.

If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies.

* * *

**July 30****th**** 2005, 1.30am: Former ****Semipalatinsk Test Site, Kazakhstan**

You can't see the ground, the clouds are too thick at this altitude but every now and again a hole would be punctured in the thick fog giving you a glimpse of the muddy fields below. Your tactical vest and parachute are strapped securely around your back and you tug firmly at the straps with your black-gloved hand. You're not usually so paranoid but it's better to be safe than sorry. You don't trust your fellow passenger on this voyage and from the look in her eyes as she regards you from the opposite side of the cabin she isn't your biggest fan either.

'How long?' you ask.

'Few minutes,' Max replies distantly cutting her gaze from your direction and turning to face the cockpit. She yells something in Russian that you can't make out due to the loud rush of air through the open door of the cargo jet.

'Ada, I heard you had another relapse,' Max murmurs at you, smirking. Her Russian accent is thicker than usual. She leans forward to tighten the ankle holster at her leg, 'Must be _very_ inconvenient for you.'

You gently roll your tongue along the back of your teeth and raise your eyebrow at her. You had become used to Max's baiting over the past decade, it was primitive at best, designed to taunt and infuriate the burly soldiers that she usually served with. But it had little effect on you. Max, with her short blond hair and wide blue eyes, was your Eastern European equivalent. She had worked for Umbrella originally as part of the 'Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service' or UBCS. The UBCS was comprised almost exclusively of convicted war criminals and mercenaries from around the world who had joined as an alternative to capital punishment for any of the crimes that they may have been caught committing. But Max was an anomaly, she had joined willingly. The only daughter of Mikhail Victor, she had been educated in private schools throughout Europe as her parents had fought guerrilla warfare against the Red Army in Russia. When Mikhail had joined the UBCS in return for his wife's freedom, Umbrella had taken over Max's education, funding her research into bio-chemistry. But Mikhail had died in Raccoon City, blown apart into the dust that now rolls across the American Midwest like the ghost of a thousand souls.

Max knew little about her father or mother, and she had had very little reason to care. Umbrella had hired her as a scientific liaison before she even finished college, but her tactical knowledge had soon outstripped her knowledge of biology. It seemed that for Umbrella knowing how to destroy was useless without knowing how to create in the first place, so Max left the lab and joined the mercenaries. You had first met Max (heaven only knows what her real name is) when you had both been in your early twenties, during a mission in Taipei. A simple break and enter that had ended…badly. She'd impressed you with her knowledge of weapons, the weak spots in the human body, her single-minded passion for the mission, her clinical completion of every order. And it had almost killed her, her blind refusal to exit the building with you when it had been about to blow. Max had wanted that last piece of data from the main computer despite you already having all the information Umbrella needed. But Max was only concerned with carving out a reputation for herself. It had taken several months for her burns to heal from the explosion. And a metal plate had had to replace most of her lower left leg. She works for Wesker now, her loyalty unquestionable. Last you had heard she had taken part in a joyride through Asia on behalf of 'S'. Looking at her now, so unchanged, eyes still ferociously wide and dangerous, you almost envy how simple her life still is.

'The new medication is doing just fine Max,' you reply gazing at her darkly, 'How's the leg?'

Max throws back her head and bellows with laughter shoving her knife back into its ankle holster. She slips on her goggles, checks her parachute and gestures to the door of the aircraft, 'After you.'

During the early 1960s Nikita Khrushchev was leader of the Soviet Union. Most commonly he's best known for having installed nuclear missiles in Cuba, jump starting the Cuban Missile crisis and almost leading Russia to a war with the United States. But according to Wesker this was merely a side project, the tip of the iceberg that broke through the waves of the deep black ocean. The real work was being conducted in Kazakhstan at the Semipalatinsk Test Site, the USSR's main nuclear weapon testing facility near the city of Semey. Above ground Khrushchev had initiated an ambitious land-reform program, but below ground something entirely different was being grown. Just outside of the main nuclear testing range, several large bunkers had been hollowed into the ground, out of sight of the eyes of the American government and the CIA. Khrushchev had been conducting some of the earliest bio-weapons research when Umbrella was nothing but a glint in Ozwell Spencer's eye.

_'They're called the 'Gemini Viruses',' Wesker had told you both over a secure conference call in Los Angeles, They're based on work conducted by Dr Ivan Yarofev from over 40 years ago.'_

'_I've never heard of him,' you had replied._

_'Not surprising,' Max had rolled her eyes, 'It's not common knowledge. In 1961 the Soviets developed a virus, called Alpha. Though theoretically powerful and able to survive inside of a host's body for decades, Alpha was entirely dormant, existing only in a suspended state and having little effect on the host. I thought Yarofev's work was unsuccessful.'_

_'Oh it was,' Wesker had smiled grimly behind his shades, 'But certain documents have come into my hands. It seems as though he wasn't as incompetent as the States had been led to believe. The Soviets developed a companion organism called Beta. It is supposed to work like an enzyme, triggering a mutation in the Alpha virus and activating its effects. I want them both.'_

You were advised by Wesker to collect as much data as you could and leave the Alpha and Beta viruses to Max, but you had other plans. Agent Shaw had been furious over the inclusion of Max in your assignment. You usually worked alone after all. The Organisation had been paranoid that Wesker no longer trusted you to carry out a mission unsupervised. But you had simply replied that Wesker had _never_ trusted you, nothing had changed there.

Several miles underground, embedded in the cold earth, the maze of bunkers covered an area of almost 750 km². The security system had been worryingly easy to deactivate, the system eroded by dust, water and time. Max's footfalls fill the facilities central meeting area as she paces from terminal to terminal. The walls are grey, with several small red stripes banded through the middle, making it seem as though the space stretches on forever. The room is practically empty, its chairs and tables probably recycled and taken to be used in some embassy in 1964 when Khrushchev was deposed and the project was shut down due to lack of funding. You slowly, quietly circle the brightly coloured emblem of the Soviet Union that is painted proudly in blue, red and yellow on the floor beneath your feet. A tall steel door fills the opposite wall blocking your entrance to the main facility and its labs.

'Do the systems have any power?' you ask, checking the ammo clip of your weapon.

'If they did I'd have the door open by now,' Max runs her hands along the panels, fingers stabbing the buttons.

You stroll over and reach the console, 'The place is in lock down. But there must be something to open the door. Move out of the way would you.'

Max shrugs and steps a few feet from the terminal. You reach round the side of the console and grip the casing in your hands. With one sharp tug you pull the casing away to reveal the wiry entrails of the system mainframe. Your father had once shown you how to rewire an ATM machine and how to siphon electricity from the city grid.

_Well, it beats cooking lessons._

Within minutes the consoles shudder and reawaken, the rusty leavers within the main generators start to grind together and the cold, fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow around the hall.

'Don't tell me. Your father was an electrician,' Max folds her arms across her ample chest, tapping her nails rhythmically against the 'S' corporation insignia on her lapel.

'He dabbled in a lot of professions,' you reply evenly, 'You want to get this over with or not?'

Max activates the door release and you're both through. It takes almost two hours to find the main laboratory where the viruses are supposed to be located. The research centre is part of a system of rooms that spiral several feet below you in three circular levels that are accessed via a central lift shaft. The highest floor contains research material, outdated theories and books with orange pages gathering dusk. The central level has a decontamination area and the lowest and the largest of the three holds the specimens and branches off into several rooms and hallways. It's shrouded in darkness when you reach it; only a single terminal in the centre of the room is still lit. Though the heating was back on again, the room is still freezing and you feel as though your windpipe is being coated in ice every time you breathe in.

'I'll take this.' Max nods in the direction of the computer panel as she strides over.

But you aren't so confidant and blasé about this place. It reminds you of something else, something that Max had never experienced or seen. It reminded you of Birkin's lab. The cold, the emptiness, that smell. It was all here.

'Max…'

Before you could advise otherwise she has already flicked the starter switch and the room comes to life. One by one the lights at the darkened rear of the room flash in shades of bright blue and purple, illuminating the entire main facility as well as its forty year old inhabitants. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of young men and woman were strapped into booths in the walls, their eyes tightly shut and expressions eerily serene. They were clad in grey uniforms with the Soviet insignia you had seen earlier and surrounded by a cloudy blue glow.

'What is this?' Max breathes, grinning broadly at the sight, 'It covers the whole facility. All the levels. God only knows how many there are in the entire complex.'

You rush to the panel and begin cycling through the data. Max joins you and you work together to download the information onto several small data sticks.

'It seems as though the Soviets had the same problem with their specimens as Umbrella,' Max notes as you both digest the research records, 'Their bio-weapons have an increased metabolic rate that results in brain damage and a zombie-like state. They die within hours.'

'So Khrushchev and Yarofev ordered them frozen until the Beta virus could be synthesised and an antidote for the high decomposition rate could be created,' you glance sardonically at the countless pods that line the walls, 'So these subjects volunteered to be frozen in suspended animation until it was time. How patriotic. They weren't to know that their government would leave them behind like old furniture when they moved.'

'They were doing their jobs,' Max shrugs, 'Now we'll do ours. I'll get the viruses, you finish up here.'

You nod and keep your eyes on the screen in front of you, as if mesmerised by the flowing data. Once Max has left the main hall for the synthesising lab, you pull away from the panel and stride quickly down the next corridor. According to Agent Shaw, the Soviets often held secure safe rooms in their facilities. They were usually accessible only via a code. It was a long shot, but there could be several samples of the viruses held in those secure rooms.

'_But we aren't sure they used one here,' you had pointed out to him._

'_It'll be there,' Agent Shaw had replied._

'_And Wesker doesn't know about it?'_

'_No one in the U.S. does outside of The Organisation and the president. And the Russians keep it pretty quiet too. My guess is that the incomplete information Wesker has gotten his dirty hands on has been stolen from the CIA.'_

_You had tilted your head to the side, deep in thought, 'So…there's a mole in the CIA that's reporting to Wesker. Do you have any proof?'_

'_None what so ever.'_

_'Looks like things have become even more complicated.'_

'_It's our only chance Miss Wong,' Shaw had muttered gravely, 'You'll find it. Unless my superiors at The Organisation only hired you for your looks.' _

'_Don't worry Shaw,' you had replied knowingly, 'Complicated is what I do.'_

Khrushchev's stateroom is just where you thought it would be. The vault holds a polished, unused oak table and several austere portraits of Russian Generals and political figures. Dark wooden cabinets stretch to the ceiling at the end of the room and you riffle through each of them in your search. But they're all empty except for a few discarded uniforms, some 1950s men's magazines and several old newspapers. You glance at your watch. It'd take Max fifteen minutes to get the samples and a further ten to get back to the main hall. You throw your eyes to the ceiling imploringly and they settle on the bright Soviet logo printed on the wall ahead of you. You roll your eyes and move to turn away. But there's something wrong with it. The image on the wall is…off some how. You almost brush off your concern and continue your search but your instincts restrain you.

'Very clever Khrushchev,' you smile.

There are several red ribbons that curl around the Soviet insignia and the slogan of the '_proletariats of the world unite'_ is written on them in fifteen languages. But on this insignia they were all written out of order. Rushing over to the wall you run your fingers along the emblem. With little effort the red tiles holding the fifteen languages fall from the wall with a clatter. You had spent most of your life working in Asia and Eastern Europe, so your Russian and Ukrainian were pretty fluent. But the other languages (Lithuanian, Latvian, Belarusian and so on) were out of your league. Their unique scripts however, you could just about decipher. It takes you three minutes to rearrange the red tiles in the correct order and you sigh with relief as the wall panel slowly slides open revealing several red vials of Alpha and a single blue vial of Beta. You throw the contents of the safe a self-satisfied smile and grab one of each, stuffing them quickly into your utility pouch. It was time to leave.

'Hey, look. I think I've found something!'

The sound of voices and several heavy footsteps outside the door of the stateroom cause you to stop in your tracks.

_Damn it!_

You hadn't re-concealed the entrance to room after you had entered. You hadn't expected anyone else to be in this part of the building. The voices are American and the sounds were getting gradually louder. You have no time to close the wall-safe so you dart to the end of the room and slip into one of the tall wooden cabinets, ducking behind the old military coats. The luminous dial of your watch tells you that you have little over ten minutes to make it back to the main hall before Max finds it empty. If that happens you'd have to kill her and despite your mutual distain it wasn't a thought you relished.

You can hear a deep female voice outside the cabinet, 'Looks like we've found Khrushchev's stateroom.'

'And some of the vials,' an enthusiastic male voice chimes in.

'Don't touch anything yet,' a third voice replies, 'It could trigger an alarm.'

You recognise that voice. It's Leon's.

_I should have known._

'Don't be such an alarmist, this place hasn't been used in years,' Leon's male companion says brightly.

'Better to be safe than sorry,' Leon replied jovially.

'I'll have that motto engraved into your desk if you like Rookie,' the woman calls out.

Leon's husky laughter fills the room as you hear the group slowly searching the room. You take a deep, silent breath willing them to leave. You have to get out of there soon. Suddenly the voices get closer to the cabinet and you freeze. You reach for your weapon as you hear the door handle being turned. The door swings open and you almost laugh out loud at the naked look of surprise on Leon's face.

'Find anything Agent Kennedy?' the female agent asks from across the room.

Leon half closes the door and turns back to her, 'No. Nothing yet.'

'Okay,' she replies, 'Dr Carter grab those samples and we'll get going.'

Leon turns back to look at you, a sly grin on his face. He's dressed in dark grey with a navy blue gun holster strapped to his shoulders. His hair is shorter than you remember, but still long enough to brush his forehead in that way you've always loved. You just stand there, nestled against the old coats, hands on your hips. You're both hidden from the rest of his team by the half-closed door. You wink playfully at him and slowly lean forwards. As softly as you can, you reach out and tuck an errant strand of hair behind his ear and duck your head down till your lips are almost against his cheek. You can smell his aftershave.

'I need to leave now. Get them out of here quickly,' you whisper.

Leon's skin brushes against yours as he nods.

'Got everything you need Agent Miller?' he calls out.

'Almost. We still need the Beta formula. There's none left here,' she replies.

You lock eyes with Leon and murmur, 'There's more in the main lab a few yards from here. But I'm not alone. My partner should be there. She's dangerous. Be careful. Nice haircut by the way.'

Leon replies with a wide, sexy grin and, shaking his head, closes the cabinet door plunging it into darkness again. A minute later you hear them leave the room. Slowly and quietly, you vacate the stateroom and run headlong back to the main hall.

You've probably maxed out your allowance of luck for the next few months as Max is nowhere to be found when you get back. You remove your data sticks from the computer terminal and pocket the data before Max strides in through the door.

'We have company,' she announces.

'I know,' you reply, 'Americans. Probably the CIA.'

'And an old acquaintance of yours,' Max smiles slowly, 'I saw them enter the main lab but they were inside too fast for me to get a clean shot.'

You nod impassively, 'We better get going. I assume you have the samples.'

'Let's wait a while. Why the rush?' Max shrugs sauntering over to the terminal.

She calls up the surveillance footage of the main lab onto the large monitor. You can get a clear view of Leon's companions now. The woman is Agent Sara Miller, a CIA operative in her mid thirties. She has dark brown hair and wide set eyes, with a countenance and a confidence that implies a high level of experience and skill. Then there was Dr Vincent Carter, an American biochemist. According to your research he has no field experience, but his scientific expertise has won him a Nobel Prize so it's not surprising that the government has snapped him up.

'Pathetic aren't they?' Max sighs, 'I almost feel a little bad for them.'

Ignoring her, you watch the monitor as the trio circle the room studying the frozen pod people also found in that laboratory. Miller directs Dr Carter to the Beta virus machines whilst Leon takes point guarding the entrance to the main lab. Carter pushes several buttons on the main console synthesising the virus. His movements are deft and self-assured.

'Let's go,' you say firmly.

Max shakes her head, eyes still glued to the monitor, 'No. I want to see something first.'

You glare at her, a dull throb of anticipation in your chest, 'What did you do?'

'Oh,' she replies, 'I did nothing.'

All of a sudden the sound of an alarm fills the room and your eyes dart back to the surveillance screen. In the main lab several sirens are flashing and the team of agents are regrouping at the centre of the hall.

'Huh,' Max mutters, 'Amateurs.'

You watch in revulsion as the pods on the monitor slide open and the ice-blue bodies of the frozen Soviet volunteers tumble to the ground. Lethargically the blurry figures drag themselves to their feet, limbs stiff and unresponsive, movements jerky and uncoordinated. They slowly stumble towards their prey.

You turn to Max with a dark expression, 'The Beta virus has been released into those pods activating the zombies. You knew that would happen didn't you?'

She smirks, 'It's a pre-programmed setting on the controls that I was able to avoid. Benefits of a Russian education. I knew the Americans wouldn't be so lucky.'

You resist the urge to punch her. Already you can hear the sound of gunfire and shouting over the surveillance camera.

'Let's go,' Max calls out to you. She's already halfway across the room.

You glance back at the surveillance screen helplessly.

_He'll be fine. He's done this a thousand times. He'll be fine._

You're about to turn and leave when you hear a slow scrapping noise from the edge of the room. Grasping your gun you level it at the sound, 'Max!'

Without warning the pods in the main hall swing open releasing their cargo onto the hard metal floors around the circumference of the room. The creatures rise to their feet and lurch towards your direction, many with eyes still frozen shut. Up close you can get a much better look at them. Though human in shape, their skin is stiff and scaly, tinted blue by decades in sub-zero confinement and encrusted with ice. Their skin has shrunk against their wasted muscle, flapping grossly against their brittle bones. Their eyes are red and sore, rolling in sockets too large for them. Matching grey uniforms are all that remain new and pristine from a forgotten era. Confusion, fear and desperation seem to shape their movements as they stagger towards you, arms outstretched, cracked blue lips parting to release a deafening shriek.

'The Beta virus must have been activated in this room too,' you shout, 'The systems are connected Max!'

You don't wait for a reply as you squeeze the trigger at the closest zombie blowing a whole in its chest. Max joins you ripping her sub machinegun from her back and firing it into the depths of the crowd. In the distance you see one of the creatures still half stuck in its stasis pod, a single arm and leg protruding from the half-open case as it struggles to free itself. You back away towards the exit as wave after wave of zombies sway towards you. One grasps blindly at your arm and you're pitched backwards against a nearby bench. Pulling away, you shoot its arm, blowing it apart at the elbow. The limb rips clean away, the blood still half-frozen in the veins. You spin and brutally kick the creature away from you and it hurtles to the deck taking down another zombie in its wake.

'There are too many!' you call out, 'We need to leave.'

You both rush for the elevator out of the lower levels. You're already in the door when you turn back to find Max still embroiled in a firefight with the creatures as they advance on her.

'Max!' your voice is smothered by the sounds of gunfire and inhuman screams.

You watch infuriated as Max relishes the brutal slaughter of the half-dead horde of creatures, cackling raucously. Their bodies are ripped apart by machinegun fire and they fall apart with loud, brittle snaps. You fire at the zombies that are crowding towards you, their hands grasping at the edge of the elevator door.

'I can't keep the door open!' you scream over the din.

Finally holstering her weapon, Max dashes back towards you. She's metres away from you before she's suddenly thrown forward, her boot catching on the low steps that lead to the higher platform. One of the creatures, its left legs missing below the knee, is crawling towards her, its fingers grasping desperately at her heels. Max bellows in pain as its long nails sink into her ankle. You train your gun on the moving torso. Your finger curls around the trigger but you hesitate, your fury at Max is still burning at the forefront of your consciousness. The thought crosses your mind but you can't let yourself do it. It's not your style to leave a partner like this, no matter how you feel about them. You'd even given Krauser a chance to escape in Spain; only striking with deadly force when he had attacked you directly. Besides, you won't get out of here alive without help, especially since there'll be more of these _things_ throughout the escape route. Sighing, you fire the gun and watch as the zombie is hurled across the floor and away from Max. She climbs to her feet and dives into the elevator with you.

You're both gasping for breath as the machine takes you higher through the complex. You encounter several more of the undead as you both charge through the compound and out through the escape hatch on its northern side. Once you're several yards from the facility you both fall to the floor, completely spent. You stare back at the horizon. The area is surrounded by tundra and random sprouts of vegetation for miles ending at the distant ice topped mountains. You wait for the sight of several bodies emerging from the underground facility. But the landscape is empty. Your heart anchors you to the floor but you know you can't afford to wait any longer. All you can do is remember how to pray.

'We have to get to the extraction point,' you pull yourself to your feet.

Max reaches into her vest, 'In a moment.'

'What are you doing?' you ask staring down at the small remote device in her hands.

'Taking care of something. Wesker wants Kennedy dead after all,' she flicks open the device, 'I lined the main lab with enough explosives to blow that small section of the facility to pieces. Besides, I've proven that Yarofev's experiment was a success. We don't want the Russians or the Americans to get their hands on the Gemini project.'

Before you can reply she presses down hard on the remote. Almost instantly you hear a distant rumble as the ground quivers at your feet. An explosion rips through the facility beneath you, the ground above splintering. Smoke bellows from the escape hatch before flames burst from beneath consuming the research facility and painting the dusky, grey sky with red and black. Heat licks at your face as you watch pensively, heart racing. You shield your eyes from the glare and turn away from the rolling dust that erupts towards you.

_Come on! Where are you?_

Distantly you hear Max declare, 'Certainly bigger than I thought it'd be. Let's go Ada. Wesker's waiting for a report.'

You nod, eyes glassy and still fixed onto the barren distance, heat scarred and empty, buried under dust and laced with flames. You peer through the dark mist and find the field as desolate as before. He isn't there. You feel sick to your stomach as you scan the horizon for the fourth time, seeking out any sign of movement. But there is nothing.

* * *

_I know...I'm mean. And I also seem to have an unhealthy addiction to cliff-hangers. A new chapter will be up by next Wednesday with plenty of Leon and Ada loveliness inside._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Coffee and Chocolate**

_Author's Note: I'm so sorry this took longer than expected, but I've been a little ill recently and haven't been able to get near a computer with the internet. But I'm alright now and only slightly doped up on aspirin. :3_

_So I've decided to put up two chapters in a row rather than one. I had a good time writing both of these chapters so I hope you all enjoy them._

**5.26am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

You consider waking him. It's a pleasant reflection. You tilt your head and smile down at him as you stand beside the bed. You've shared some of the most intimate moments of your life with him. Many of the moments happened mere hours ago and some of them even involved keeping your clothes on. But before tonight you had never been able to sit back and watch him sleep for such a long time. Half of the sheets on the bed have been kicked to the floor and the rest are knotted around his waist and legs. His strong fingers are wrapped around the pillow and he's talking in his sleep again. You slip your arms gently from the robe and let in fall with a soft thud to the floor. His head shifts suddenly making his golden hair fall to tickle his nose, his hand involuntarily comes up sharply to push it out of the way. You move to kneel on the bed beside him, your legs brushing against his hips. Even in the dark of early dawn you can make out the well-toned shape of his torso, shadows dance in-between the creases of his muscles as the flickering lights of the motel sign outside intrude through the blinds.

He's always been cute. Men like him must be born with particular genes that recreate _that_ special kind of smile, or _that_ look in his eyes, or _that_ tone of voice. But he's more than that to you now. He's proud but always selfless, intelligent but a little naive, tough but never heartless, in pain but never complaining.

You run your hands down the length of his coarse, hard chest digging the heels of your palms into his abdomen. He stirs and you grin devilishly. Who knows when you'll be able to do this again? Lowering your face to his, you let your lips drift a few centimetres over his.

All of a sudden Leon's arms wrap around you, spinning you to the bed. His body settles over yours and he's smiling widely down at you. He ducks his head forwards and presses his face to the crease of your neck biting down tenderly onto your collarbone, his rough stubble grazing your skin and shattering your already tenuous self-control.

'About time,' Leon mutters against your shoulder, his breath hot, 'I've been waiting for you get back into bed with me for almost half an hour.'

**August 4****th**** 2005, 8.16pm: Near the ****Hotel Union Square, San Francisco USA.**

'Miss, we've arrived. Miss?'

Your head snaps up from its resting place against your arm as you gaze impassively at the driver. Your cheek is sore and you can barely feel your fingers. The old man arcs his head back and nods to the window of his cab.

'Are you feeling alright Miss?'

'Yes, I'm fine,' you reply distantly and reach to the floor to grab your bag.

You glance quickly at your watch. You must have been asleep for almost half an hour. The painkillers usually made you drowsy and it's been a tough few days, you haven't slept much since you boarded the plane back to America from Kazakhstan. It's been five days since then, five days that have merged together into a bland mass of time, tangled in knots, the hours looping over each other again and again until you felt that each day was replaying itself like a needle jumping and scratching on an old record.

'_Congratulations,' Wesker's voice, as thick and cold as cream, had filled the plane on the flight home. Along with Max you had detailed your activities to Wesker over the videophone link to New York. _

'_We shouldn't have to worry about Agent Kennedy anymore. No one could survive that blast,' Max had smirked, leaning back on the small, awkward canvas seat like it was fully stuffed armchair, her toned frame arching cat-like at the waist._

'_You under estimate him,' you had replied dispassionately, your voice had been like a silk blanket that concealed the anguish that was gripping you._

_Max had sneered at you, 'And you over-exaggerate.'_

_Wesker had calmly interjected, 'We'll see soon enough. Our priority was to destroy the facility and that has been done. The Soviets will be sifting through rubble for the next decade and will doubtless find nothing useful. Just a few American corpses.'_

_You had tensed, fingers wrapping tightly around each other till your nails left an imprint in your palm. You had silently run every past mission through your mind, mentally picturing Leon, systematically evaluating him, taking a journey back in time and mentally making a list to prove Wesker wrong, a list that you'll never get to speak aloud. But the conclusion you had eventually made was something you hadn't expected. It had nothing to do with Leon's survival, or the capacity of several sticks of C4- it was the bigger picture. Las Plagas, Venus and Gemini Viruses. Separately they were flawed, prone to weak points. Las Plagas was unpredictable, violent but if you could control it with the right instruments. Venus was low grade, weak but could sap energy from other organisms to survive. Gemini was inefficient, wasteful but it required two viruses combined to make it effective. However, all these viral strains together excelled the sum of their parts. Together they could manufacture a virus that was powerful, efficient at gathering energy and that could lie dormant for several years within a host without them even knowing it, only to be activated by contact with a seemingly harmless enzyme. Wesker could infect entire communities without them being aware of it. He could stand on top of the world._

Brilliant, ingenious, powerful, deadly. Even thinking about it now makes you ill. Nevertheless, Wesker doesn't have the real Las Plagas or Venus viruses. The world was safe, for now. Shaw had been contemptuous of your theory, at least judging by the clipped, encrypted message he had sent you yesterday:

_We'll keep an eye on it._

You had exchanged the information and the virus samples with the Organisation via a brush pass in the street. One of Shaw's agents had sat down next to you on one of San Francisco's famous trams and you had stealthily slipped the vials and the information into the agent's hands as you had risen to disembark. Unfortunately, this meant that you couldn't ask the government about the status of Leon's team. Where are they? Did they survive? Did they get home? You had buried those questions deep inside until they were nothing but a muffled scream, but it didn't help that every man you see with blonde hair makes you stop in your tracks and stare pensively.

You thank the cab driver and press a tip into his hands, before quickly crossing the cable car tracks and entering the Hotel Union Square, your usual choice of residence during your time off.

'_Take a few days off Ada,' Wesker had muttered distantly as he had turned the Alpha and Beta vials over and over in his fingers so quickly that their blue and red colours blurred into violet, 'You've earned it. Just don't get too comfortable.'_

_Comfortable? There was no chance of that._

The lobby of the hotel is bright, clean and open, glossy black and white floors clash delightfully with deep red furniture and Art Deco paintings. Antique phones chirrup on the reception desk as busboys in authentically uncomfortable uniforms dash from room to room with heavy bags. You nod at Mel the receptionist with faint cordiality as he hands you your room keys.

'Miss Wong, you've had no phone calls from your company today. But a young man did leave a message for you,' Mel smiles patiently at your bemused expression, 'He told me that the message was from an old friend. An "Audrey".'

'I beg your pardon?' you ask.

'Audrey Miss. The message is from Audrey. She sends her regards,' he slips you a sealed envelope and darts off to see to another guest.

You turn the thick cream envelope over, rotating it between your fingertips. The embossed edges stand out in the low lights of the foyer and your name is written in dark blue ink on the front. A tall black pillar stands in the edge of the reception area and you take a seat behind it, shielding yourself from prying eyes. You take a deep breath and slide a red fingernail under the lip of the envelope tearing it open cleanly. A thick piece of white card falls into your hands. It's blank except for a small system of numbers and symbols. It was too long for a postcode or even a phone number. But the system of dashes and dots is familiar. It was a code, a basic substitution cipher. One you'd used before. But not with anyone else. With _him_.

_Embarcadero Centre. __Gelateria_. _Tonight. Nine pm. _

You frown at the card for a moment before shoving it smoothly into your bag. It could be a trap or a trick. Or it could really be him. But curiosity wins out over suspicion. You want to know which. You _need_ to know. The past few months have made you reckless. But you don't have much left to lose after all. You had less than half an hour to get to the Embarcadero Centre and it was several blocks away, a tall and imposing old building, and a shopping mall that stayed open till almost midnight. As you stride out of the lobby you causally stroke the gun holster on your thigh. You're curious but you're not stupid. You're also hopeful, but you push that thought aside for the moment.

The centre is bustling when you arrive; it's five past nine already. Your cheeks are pink from exertion and your gaze flits from figure to figure, absorbing as much detail as you can manage from the busy, laughing shoppers that weave around you like water. But no one seems to have recognised you. You reach the Gelateria. It's an ice cream parlour on the third floor of the complex, but it's boarded up and has been for over an hour according to the sign. You bite down on your lip and toss a glance over your shoulder. The coast is clear so you bend forwards and reach for the small, padlocked door that fronts the building. To your surprise, the door falls open at the soft press of your hands. You grasp your gun, step into the darkness and let the door swing shut with a snap behind you. It's dark on the inside and you struggle to adapt to the gloom. You pick apart the shadows with your eyes and they fall to pieces. You tread carefully between tables and chairs, breathing in the sweet, cold air. The shop is seemingly empty but its counters are lit by tiny blue and white lights that glow softly on the silver surfaces. But he's there. You know he is. You can feel it, though you barely believe it. A dark figure leans against the table at the farthest corner of the room and you level your weapon at it. You don't trust hope.

'Hey Ada,' he calls out softly. He's dressed casually in a dark grey t-shirt and stonewashed jeans, a large, snowy white bandage covers the right side of his forehead and you can make out a dark bruise on his chin.

'Leon?' you're striding towards him now, faster and faster, and he's standing. You had meant to stop a couple of feet in front of him but he steps forwards and pulls you into his arms. Your first instinct is to pull away at this point, to berate him for his recklessness, and you make a move to do so. But when you feel him bury his face into your hair and inhale your scent, you fall apart completely and lift your hands to fiercely grasp his waist. He winces in pain and you try to move away but he doesn't let you go. You look up into his eyes, the white and blue lights are mirrored in his gaze; a smile, deep and growing every second, is on his lips. Thrusting your hands into his hair you tease the strands around your fingers and kiss him passionately, your eyes closing against a discomforting onslaught of tears.

'Is that all you have to say to me?' you breathe, when your lips part after several minutes, '"Hey Ada"?'

'How about- "I've missed you"?' he replies impishly rocking you slowly against his chest and caressing your hair, 'Or "I've been waiting for this all day"?'

You reach up and gently trace his pristine bandage with your fingertips, 'I had no idea my partner had planted those explosives. If I'd have known…'

'It's okay,' he cups your face, 'I know. Don't worry. If it had been you that had wanted me dead I wouldn't be here right now. Miller and I spotted the C4 before it blew and we were able to make it to a reinforced room on the edge of the compound.'

'But you didn't get out all in one piece,' you raise an eyebrow up at him cheekily.

Leon laughs and lets you slip from his arms, 'Nobody's perfect. I wanted to contact you sooner but once we found our way back to the States we were quarantined for days. You must have been worried.'

'I was…mildly concerned.'

He gives you a knowing look and settles back on the counter. You perch on a table opposite him. The sight of him is a reprieve after so many sleepless nights.

'I'm curious. How did you find my hotel?' you ask.

'Actually I was surprised. You weren't too hard to find.'

'I'm on vacation.'

He gives you a sour smirk, 'I didn't know Wesker supplied full employee benefits.'

You look away caustically, 'Are you going to answer my question?'

Leon's frown softens and he nods.

'I have my sources. I knew you were in San Francisco so I started searching within the perimeter of that deli you told me about a few months ago. 'Harlequin's'. The one with the great spicy Cajun sandwiches. And the Hotel Union Square seemed like your kind of place. Elegant, not too stuffy, red upholstery,' he leans towards you to trace your fingertips with his own, 'And I asked the bellhop if a particularly beautiful woman in red had checked into the hotel in the past few days.'

Sighing, you discretely pull away from him, 'This is dangerous Leon. I should get going.'

'No wait,' he smiles, 'You look hungry. Want some ice cream?'

You hesitate for a second before laughing, 'Ice cream?'

'Yeah. Come on. I'll pay for anything we take.'

'You broke in here for this?'

Leon smirks and swings his legs over the countertop, 'Can I take your order?'

You stroll over to the counter and rest your elbows on the cold marble surface, 'You're serious?'

'Sure. I'm having Rocky Road,' he yanks open the large freezer and begins to riffle through the tubs.

'Coffee and chocolate,' you reply quietly.

He turns and appraises you shrewdly, 'Hmm. Thought so.'

You slide onto one of the stools and watch him as he scoops the desserts into bowls.

'Why are you doing this? I've never seen you like this.'

'What do you mean?' he asks.

You glance away then back at him, 'So…completely alive.'

Leon slides a bowl heaped with coffee and chocolate towards you, 'I've been on over thirty missions in a single year, and every time something happens… an axe blade slices too close, or a floor collapses under me…my last thought is that I've failed my mission. But in Kazakhstan, during the explosion, the last thing I thought about was that I may never see you again,' he smiles and lets out a short burst of breath, 'It wasn't a happy thought.'

You grasp the spoon in your hands and slice into the ice cream, your eyes glued to the countertop but seeing nothing; you're too busy hoping that he'll learn to get used to that thought very soon. For his own sake at least.

'Who was your partner anyway?' he asks, settling down with his dessert in his hands. He turns the spoon over as he licks it clean in a quaint, childish gesture that you don't think he's even aware of, 'I think I have a right to know who almost killed me. It makes my job a little easier.'

'Her name is Max.'

'Just Max?'

'Yes,' you reply, 'She's worked for Wesker almost as long as I have. She defected from Umbrella along with him a few years before the Spencer mansion incident of 1998. She's a bio-chemist with a flare for the "military arts".'

'You don't sound like her biggest fan.'

Pausing, you reach over with your spoon and dig out a scoop of his ice cream from its bowl, slipping the mouthful between your lips, 'The last time we worked together she lost half a leg. I had met her shortly before Raccoon City when she became a double agent working for Wesker. We were in Taiwan raiding a factory that housed information from a rival of Umbrella Corp that Wesker wanted to secure for his own needs. We were ordered to gather as much as we could then destroy the facility. I had managed to gather over three quarters of the computer's files but Max wanted them all despite the fact that the explosives we'd planted were close to detonation. I left but she stayed; stayed a few minutes too long and paid the price as it happens. She got out alive but only just. While I was selected to infiltrate Umbrella using Jon, she was unconscious and in traction.'

'And she blames you?' Leon frowns.

You shrug, 'We were both following the same orders. We'd just interpreted them differently.'

Leon tilts his head and smiles sympathetically.

'Why did you become a police officer?' you ask, eager to lighten the dark mood, you've had about as much of it as you can take, 'I tell you a story, you tell me one.'

'So we're _exchanging_ stories now?' he chuckles huskily, 'You don't often tell me anything about your past.'

'Well you did pay for the ice cream.'

'Alright. I wanted to make a difference I guess. It's a nice bonus to get paid for doing something you enjoy. When I was in sixth grade I was one of the youngest there but about a foot taller than everyone else so I used to hunch over a lot. There was this other kid in the grade above, Ethan, who used to make his rounds picking on the younger kids. And one day it was my turn. But I'd been having a really tough time with my brothers and I was in a really vengeful mood that day.'

'Let me guess,' you rest your chin on your hand, 'You taught him a lesson?'

'No. I got my ass handed to me,' he grins, 'But all the other kids were pretty impressed for some reason. I suppose it was because I stood up for myself. Pretty soon barely anyone paid attention to Ethan's threats anymore and he stopped hassling us. And I liked that. I liked that my bruises made a difference.'

You gaze up at him and delicious warmth spreads through your body. His eyes lock with yours for a second and he leans forward pressing his mouth against yours. Coffee, chocolate, nuts and marshmallows merge and blend against your tongue; your taste buds shiver.

'We should get going,' Leon throws a few dollar bills onto the counter and climbs over again.

You nod and stand to face him, 'I'll contact you soon.'

'Just a second,' He reaches out and takes your hand in his, 'It's only ten pm.'

You stare at him inquisitively as he places a small, green slip of paper into your hand.

'A movie ticket?' you peer at the tiny text written on the stub and exclaim, '"Little Shop of Horrors"? I guess that's why you used the code name "Audrey" for that message you sent me.'

'Well in Sicily you told me you'd never seen it,' he raises his eyebrows up at you endearingly, 'Call it research on herbaceous bio-weapons. Besides, we've had our first argument, we've slept together; I don't think it's too premature for a first date.'

You blanch at his use of the words 'first date'. First dates are for teenagers, shy couples, and lonely singletons. Not a government agent and a spy with a hundred alliances and enemies. Not for two people who can't even be seen in public together.

'Leon… this is…'

'Crazy? I know. But this isn't about the job anymore.'

'Then what is this about?'

He pauses for a moment, he looks doubtful, confused, his lips are pursed together. His gaze is dark, intense but also fleeting, darting from you to the ceiling imploringly and then back to your face. He doesn't know how to say it but you can read it in his eyes. He's falling in love with you.

'You don't have to go. But it starts at 10.30 at the Rouge theatre over on Golden Gate Avenue and Fillmore,' he gives you a bittersweet smile and kisses your cheek.

You stand there, your fingers curled protectively around the movie ticket stub till the ink rubs off onto your pale skin.

_I should leave. But I won't. I can't. Maybe if I didn't know how all this will eventually end I'd be more cautious, less selfish. Maybe I'd need him less too. But I doubt it._

You turn away from him and make your way to the exit, 'I'll meet you there.'

The Rouge movie theatre is a welcoming hub of darkness and noise as you lay back ignoring the commercials that dance across the tall screen in front of you. There are less than half a dozen others at the screening in this small, impendent cinema. That must have been why Leon had chosen it. You glance at your watch. It's 10.43. You hear a distant rustling and turn to see Leon slip into the seat beside you. You'd chosen the back row centre- it had a greater vantage point over whole theatre and you had a clean view of the exits. He's carrying a tall box of popcorn in one hand and two soft drinks in the other. You smirk at him and he just laughs.

'I thought I'd treat you to dinner too.'

'You're quite the connoisseur then,' you whisper as you reach over and grab the box from his hands and stretch up to kiss him quickly on the lips. He lifts the armrest between your seats and lets you snuggle against his chest. The still, clammy air and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing relaxes you and you fall asleep for the first time in days. A deep, dreamless abyss. You're woken again only by the soft sound of Leon's husky laughter. The movie lasts for an hour and a half but you both sneak out before the credits roll, out of the fire exit and into the empty side street that flanks the building.

'So what do you think?' he asks when you're alone.

'About the movie?'

'No. Audrey the killer plant. You think we could take it?'

'Yes, I think so,' you look cautiously up and down the alleyway making your calculations, working out how long it'll take for you to make it back to your hotel room. You're jumpy. Things are too good. You're too happy.

Leon follows your gaze and squeezes your arm gently, 'You go that way. I'll wait for a few minutes and double back into the theatre.'

You nod in agreement and step into his arms feeling them tighten almost instantly around you. You're getting too used to this but right now you don't care. You need this. You both do. It takes only a slight tilt of your face to bring your lips up to his and you relish the kiss, the delicate bubble forming around you both again. Fate can't find you here.

* * *

_In case you're wondering The Hotel Union Square in San Francisco is a real hotel. I searched hotels in the city and that was the first that came up. It really did seem like the kind of place Ada would stay._

_As for Leon and Ada's ice cream flavours, I did an online 'what ice cream flavour are you?' test pretending to be Ada and then Leon and the flavours I chose for them are the ones that came up. That ladies and gentlemen is how nerdy I can be about my fan fic. :-)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: My Gift to You**

_Author's Note__: Here's the next chapter of this update. I won't say too much about it except umm…there's a possible tissue warning with this chapter._

_Oh, and Ada speaks a little Chinese in this chapter and the translations are in italics._

**6.39am Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

You've woken up thousands of times in the past but this is the brightest morning light you've ever seen. Even more brilliant than the Las Vegas lights at midnight, it's the sunrise. And you're being hunted by that sunrise, the fingers of dawn slipping slowly over the fabric of your bed to yank the covers away. Squinting at the window you roll out of his arms and hear him sigh gently into the pillow.

'You know it's time to wake up now. You can't sleep forever.'

'Who says I can't?'

'I do.'

'Hmmm. I bet I could persuade you to stay for a few more minutes,' he slips his arms around your waist and pulls you back onto his chest. Anyone watching would think that he's just being playful, but you know that he's desperate to delay the inevitable. You brace your fingers against his shoulders and push him gently away.

'Leon,' you slide from his hands, 'Nice try. But I have work to do.'

He lets you go and sits up, stretching out his stiff and tired arms above his head, 'You mean _we_ have work to do.'

You pause from putting on your robe. You'd hoped that he's changed his mind after a good night's sleep; that he'd seen sense.

'I'm better off on my own for this,' you reply.

'No,' he reaches for you and turns you to face him, 'We agreed.'

'No, _you_ agreed. I want to protect you.'

'And endanger yourself in the process? Should I remind you that you almost died yesterday? Twice?' he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead, 'The Ada Wong I know would use absolutely every resource at her disposal to get the job done. Come on. I'm _asking_ you to use me this time. I'm begging you. Don't be difficult and turn me away. This is a once in a lifetime chance.'

He cringes when he realises the implication of what he's just said.

You run your hand tenderly across his jaw, his pulse throbbing delicately against your palm, 'I'm leaving in thirty minutes. You'd better be ready by then.'

**August 6****th**** 2005, 3.31pm: Las Margaritas********, San Francisco USA.**

Stability had always been a commodity in your family, to be sold by whoever could guarantee it and to be bought by your father and mother whenever they had something valuable- information, secrets, knowledge- that could be bartered with. By the age of fifteen you had had seventeen different homes, eleven different names and eight different schools. Your life was a kaleidoscope of people, places and personalities. A nightmare for some but you had adapted easily; chaos had become your playground. You could turn off a part of yourself and relay the information that had been planted on you by your family with complete ease and authenticity. It was a continuous cycle, a game.

_My name's Alyson, Sara, Mei Ling, Jennifer, Kelly, Hoshi; I'm from Connecticut, New York, Boston, Chicago, Texas, we're from overseas._

This had groomed you as an agent, it was your livelihood. Your life was that you had none. And that in turn was what enabled you to survive.

But this process had not been without exceptions. Even an adult requires a constant in her life and you had had that. As a child you had chosen the colour red. Ruby, rosy, rouge. Your eternal, unchanging signature, your tether to sanity. And what a pretty tether it was. When you were five years old you had taken to wearing crimson ribbons in your shiny black hair, you'd trace them through your fingertips at night. They were small, easy to stuff into your pocket or tie around your wrist. When your parents would thrust you into the car in the middle of the night, when it was time to leave yet another shell of a home, you'd trace the red lines with your hands or thread them through your fingers so your parents wouldn't see them, so they wouldn't think of you as weak or as a liability that should be left behind. Red was the last you had seen of your parents one night when you returned home; red blood that dripped on the carpets, scarlet death at whisked them away. The police had found you there; you'd been surrounded by a moat of blood, clutching three red ribbons in your hands. You think you still have them somewhere. A macabre memento.

The cool air around San Francisco's harbour whips devilishly around the hem of your light, red summer dress, curling the fabric around your thighs. You study the deep water in the distance as it kisses the horizon, the smell of the salt is heavy in the air, it's slightly sweaty but it's pleasant and it sure beats the New York smog. You weave in-between the tables at the Las Margaritas Café that sits out in the open air on the waterfront. It's early evening and only a few customers are present, having a late lunch or an early supper, but it's enough to create a decent cover for your activities. You take you allocated seat at the table behind Agent Shaw as you prepare for your weekly meeting. You're back to back with him, the chairs about a metre apart. His attention is locked on his plate of fish and a cup of coffee. There is a discarded newspaper on the table in front of you- 'The San Francisco Chronicle'. The Organisation thought it clever to stage a clandestine meeting with an operative out in the open, believing that anyone watching would just see two strangers sitting silently back to back, rather than a handler meeting his double agent. You nod in the direction of the bored waitress at the end of the room and she hurries over. Once you've ordered, you lean back, crossing your legs at the ankle and lift the glass of icy mineral water to your red lips, the cubes melting almost instantly in the afternoon heat.

'A chicken salad?' Shaw asks, 'On a diet?'

'No,' you reply sipping again at the drink, 'These meetings just tend to put me off my food.'

Shaw laughs quietly, 'I have your counter mission for Sydney if you can stand to wait a while.'

Wesker gave word yesterday that he's sending you on an operation to Australia. Just a routine mission to gather some technological specifications at IUC- a software company that wouldn't play ball with 'S' or Umbrella. If the company wouldn't provide the information through legitimate business channels, then Wesker was determined to get them the easy way- by using you.

'What do you need?' you ask.

'We want you to make a second copy of the specs and send them to us. We'll execute a brush pass at the airport terminal on the way back. You'll slip the second copy into the hands of Agent Rodriguez as he passes you near the luggage area. Do you know what he looks like?'

You've worked with Rodriguez before; he was a competent agent, 'Yes.'

'Good,' you hear the soft clatter of his coffee cup as he lifts it to his mouth.

'Why aren't we providing Wesker a fake copy of the information? We could easily give him blueprints of classified and failed CIA weapons. It'll set his research back months before he realises they're fake.'

'Wesker has become jumpy recently. He's sending out more operatives to places like Asia and South America. He's meeting with less and less people face to face and he's attacked rival companies without provocation,' Shaw murmurs, 'We need to take things a little slower.'

Your brow creases in delicate concern, 'How much slower?'

'A few months longer than expected, give or take,' Shaw mutters nonchalantly.

'I'm not prepared to wait that long.'

'Why are you so eager to get rid of Wesker?'

'Isn't it obvious?' you straighten as the waitress approaches with your order. After she's swept off to another customer you continue, 'What about the message I sent to you? My speculation regarding Wesker's end game? We don't have forever to stop him.'

You hear Shaw shift in his chair, its legs scrapping against the pavement, 'Bio-weapons that can lie dormant for several years, that can attack and suck out the life force of other organisms? Vampire zombies?'

'Considering everything that happened in Raccoon City and since, is that so hard to believe?'

'We'll consider it. But right now we have nothing but speculation. Besides, Wesker doesn't even have the Las Plagas or Venus Viruses.'

'Wesker is a master at improvising. If he's planning something national or even global you'd have cause to worry.'

'We've been doing this far longer than you have Miss Wong,' he replies in a distinctly snide tone, 'Our plan is to pull Wesker apart from the inside and that's going to take a hell of a long time. This isn't about cutting an arm off of the monster; this is about killing the monster. I think we'll do just fine with this course of action.'

You lift your fork and stab it cleanly through a small chunk of chicken on your plate, 'Is there anything else or are you just enjoying the sunshine?'

'I was actually planning to ask about Max.'

'What about her?'

'Well we've been watching her for months now,' Shaw replies, 'It seems as though Wesker is sending her on as many missions as you. Is that odd to you?'

'He doesn't play favourites if that's what you mean.'

'Then what does it mean?'

You pause and gently push the green leaf salad around the cold, white plate, 'Max has always been loyal to Wesker. She's efficient,' you almost cringe remembering the sight of that explosion in Kazakhstan, 'But she's also brutal. She's learning to focus that brutality.'

'You don't sound worried.'

'I can handle her.'

You are reasonably confident about that part of this mission at least. Max's loyalty to Wesker is unquestionable, which makes her dangerous but logical to a fault. In many ways Max doesn't trust herself, she's passed her loyalty over to Wesker and 'S' as replacements for the family she never knew. But you had known your family; you had watched them die trying to outwit as many different people as possible, watched them care only for their own safety and their own agenda till they were crushed under lies. Unwittingly you'd followed them into that same bear trap. Except you'd jumped before the jaws had snapped shut.

You push the half-eaten salad away from you and begin to stand, 'I'll contact you in a week,' you mutter in Shaw's direction.

'Aren't you going to read the newspaper?' Shaw replies smugly. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him lift his coffee cup to gently blow on its foamy top, 'I believe there's some really interesting material on page 14.'

You raise your eyebrow in confusion and settle back into the chair. You lift the copy of 'The San Francisco Chronicle' that had been on your table when you'd arrived earlier. You flip calmly through the pages till you settle on '14'. Tucked neatly amid the pages of events, scandal and advertisements you find a small brown envelope.

'What's this?' you ask. Shaw doesn't reply.

You open it and pull out several documents. They're photographs, they're in colour but almost look black and white as if they had been taken in the dead of night. The locations look familiar though, sickeningly familiar. You swallow hard and shove them back into the envelope. You don't need to see the rest of these photographs. You know what's on them because you had been at that exact location two nights ago, in that alleyway beside the Rouge movie theatre with Leon. That kiss you'd given him after the movie hadn't been enough for either of you. You'd made love to him in that alleyway that night and some one had been watching and taking pictures. You feel sick and violated. Not on your own behalf- you were used to being watched and used, but Leon was not. That night had been…special, different; It was yours and Leon's alone.

'Where did you get these?' you hiss darkly.

'I think I'm the one who should be asking the questions, don't you Miss Wong?' he replies with infuriating cheeriness, 'How long has this been going on? Three months? Four? I must be honest with you; I was surprised when those photos landed on my desk. I knew you had a past, but I'd had no idea that that boy scout Leon liked it that way. What do you see in him anyway?'

You scowl at the envelope in your hands as if daring to rip it to pieces, 'Go to hell Shaw! This doesn't concern you or The Organisation.'

'Just who the hell do you think you are? Who do you think you work for?' he mutters angrily, 'There is no personal. There is no private. You're lucky. If it wasn't for my superiors you would have been pulled from this operation altogether!'

'Should I thank you? You had no cause to send agents after me in the first place.'

'Oh, it wasn't _us_ following _you_. It was the CIA following Leon. Those pictures were taken by the internal affairs branch of the CIA after they noticed some of Leon's activities.'

'Activities?' you ask.

'Flights to Paris, Chicago, Madrid and London without authorisation. They're places where you usually stay, am I right? Plus on operations to Mexico and Huston he had begun to stay there longer than usual when the missions were over. He was seeing you there, wasn't he? Since only a few higher ups at the CIA know that you're working for us, the regular agents simply assumed that you were still the enemy. They thought that Leon had been seduced to the other side or was unwittingly selling secrets.'

'Leon has never discussed his work with me. It was always off limits. The CIA are foolish to immediately assume that an agent with his profile and reputation is disloyal.'

'Be that as it may, you know how this looks to someone on the outside.'

You sigh and clasp your hands together in front of you, 'Has Leon seen these?'

'No,' Shaw replies firmly, 'An agent of mine managed to pull the photos before anyone else saw them and got them to me. Leon's superiors are none the wiser.'

You close your eyes in relief, 'And what about copies?'

'The only copies are safely locked away. And they'll stay that way as long as you end the affair. Immediately. It's compromising the mission, compromising you.'

A dull, thudding dread pounds in the base of your throat as you wrap your fingers around the document in your hands. You knew it couldn't last forever. You'd been careless and foolish, but you'd be damned if Leon was going to pay the price for that, to lose his job and be disgraced at an agency that was lucky to have him. You aren't going to ruin his life. Really you were lucky you'd gotten away with it for as long as you had.

'I'll end it,' you whisper, the broken edge to your voice surprises even you. You throw a small pile of cash onto the table and leave.

**August 8****th**** 2005, 11.17pm: China Town********, San Francisco USA.**

The sky above you is a dark black, decorated not by stars, but by several red lanterns. You're in China Town now, among the neon lights and the crowds. Trams glide through the wide streets like dragons embellished with tiny white, yellow and orange lights. A Bank of America sits nestled amid an apartment block and a jeweller's, with several restaurants and a special herbalist facing it on the opposite side of the road. As you watch the blurry lights and even blurrier people you begin to wonder if time is conspiring against you, running faster and faster to get you to this point. Tightening your long black coat around your waist, you step off the tram and onto the street. You're immediately swept along with the crowd as you walk, only jumping from their ranks when you pass by Xian Chinese Restaurant. You sip calmly through the doors.

'Ada?' a voice beckons you eagerly from the corner of the room.

You force a benign smile onto your face, 'Ling. Hao jiu bu jian le.' (_Ling. Long time no see_.)

You've known Ling for about twelve years now. She's owned this restaurant almost twice as long as that. It was her flare for cooking that filled the building with enticing spicy scents and the bellies of her patrons with the best Chinese food for several miles. Though the sign in the window called the recipes 'traditional' Ling admitted to you, and _only _to you, that she simply made them up on the spot and let the tourists think what they wanted. She's a middle aged Chinese woman whose golden face, with its harsh lines and deep red mouth, was as strikingly beautiful as it was fierce. She treated you like a troublesome daughter who disappeared one minute, re-appeared the next, to be met with scolds and kisses all at once.

'Ni hao ma?' (_How are you?_) she asks, her face composed, her mouth struggling against a growing smile.

You simply tilt your head and give a little shrug. Ling grins knowingly and takes your arms in her hands. She peers up over her glasses at your face, and you weather the scrutiny with mild amusement. Ling looks like she's planning on saying something important to you but holds back.

'Well in that case I'm very glad to see you again.,' she declares sincerely, switching to English.

She smilingly offers you some of her famous dumplings (your favourite) and when you turn them down she looks at you with concern, 'Ada, I haven't seen you in months.'

'I've been busy,' you reply gazing anxiously at the noisy patrons scattered around the restaurant, 'I need to use your back room for a few moments.'

'So you haven't come to make a social call?' she frowns.

You laugh lightly, 'Maybe next time.'

Ling nods in understanding, 'Who should I expect?'

'An American. Young, about six feet tall, blonde hair, blue eyes,' you rattle off the list mechanically.

'Not a usual informant then?' she casually steers you to the back rooms behind the kitchens. You nod in greeting to the familiar chefs and cooks as you bustle past them through the noise and steam.

'No,' you reply when you reach the almost empty room, 'This is personal.'

The back room was familiar to you despite its new lick of bland cream paint that made little difference to the small, cramped feel of the space. You used it for the occasional meeting with contacts looking to sell information or hire you for operations. A small wooden table, flanked on either side by two matching chairs, took up almost all the space there was. The room was half underground with tiny windows near the ceiling that peaked out at the street above. A single, yellow light bulb hung swinging in the centre of the room.

Ling reaches up to stroke a stray hair from your forehead, quite a feat since she's almost a foot shorter than you, 'Personal? I didn't know Ada Wong did 'personal'.'

You sigh, 'Neither did I.'

Ling lets go of your arm and turns to leave, 'Perhaps you should make it a social call next time you visit Ada.'

You know it's unlikely to happen, but you agree nonetheless. After Ling has made herself scarce you sit down on top of the table and listen to the distant racket of fireworks, chatter and cars above you. This is going to be harder than you thought.

You sent Leon an encoded message marked 'urgent' soon after leaving Shaw at Las Margaritas. Ling's restaurant was the safest place you knew in San Francisco. You didn't want anyone to listen in on the last conversation you were ever going to have with him.

'Ada.'

You turn to find Leon standing in the doorway. He's wearing a dark brown leather jacket and jeans, his hair is still a little messy as if he'd just stepped out of the shower mere minutes ago. He seems younger like this, reminding you viscerally of the first time you met him. But you shrug off the feeling. It must just be a trick of the light.

He grins at you and carefully closes the door, 'Is that woman out front a friend of yours? She looked about ready to kick my ass when I asked for you. Is she always like that?'

When you don't answer he continues chuckling, 'She told me to behave myself. And then in the same breath she offered me a half price meal.'

You school your face into an expressionless mask, the icy and indifferent glance of a stranger. You look like a bored tourist appraising a work of art in a museum that she's seen a hundred times before. But underneath you're trembling. Leon steps a little closer watching you almost warily. He knows something's wrong. It's remarkable, the way his face slowly cycles through several different expressions, his lips hardening into deep-set line, his eyes losing their passion in the time it takes him to blink. He knows why you've called him here. He knows it's over.

'Your note said 'urgent',' he mutters casually, 'I was worried. Got here as soon as I could.'

'Thank you,' you reply coolly, 'I thought it was best that we did this sooner rather than later.'

Leon smirks humorously, tossing his eyes towards the ceiling before glancing back at you again, 'Just say it Ada.'

You look him square in the eye, the contact is electric, 'We can't see each other anymore. Not for any reason.'

He nods at you, not taking his eyes from your face. His reply is so calm you'd think that you'd just told him the time or commented on the weather, 'Can I ask why?'

'Does it really matter? We both agreed that this wouldn't be for the long term.'

'But why now, and not yesterday or tomorrow or a month from now? Why tonight?'

You drop your gaze to the floor, 'Wesker is becoming suspicious of my activities. He's keeping tabs on all my movements. He must have assigned Max to keep an eye on me.'

Now you know that this isn't true. It's a lie, and it's funny that the lies are more plausible than the truth these days.

'If we continue like this, we could get caught and I will lose my job. My work is important to me Leon,' you continue, 'I won't sacrifice it for anything. It's all I have.'

'That's not true,' he steps towards you, sliding his finger under your chin to tilt your face upwards. The feel of his skin is agony to you now so you sharply toss your head away from him.

'And what do you really know about me?' you reply flippantly, your tone mocking him, 'I'm doing this for your own safety. I thought you'd have the sense to be grateful.'

_Get angry at me Leon. Just leave right now! Get angry at me!_

'You think you know me but you don't,' you continue, 'You're infatuated with me and when I return the attention you think that great sex is something more than it really is.'

Leon almost scowls at you, 'Don't patronise me! I know what this is Ada. I can point out every scar on your body and tell you how many of them you got defending me, saving my life. And it goes both ways. This means more to me than you think.'

'I can't say the same,' you reply, the lie practically burning your lips and making them quiver, 'It was exciting for a while. I was curious about you, but really…how long did you think this would last? What are you willing to pay for another night with me Leon? Your job? Your life? The lives of you mother and brothers? What Leon? What am I worth to you?'

'I risk my life almost everyday, I know what the dangers are,' he yells pacing away from you, 'Have you ever thought that it could be worth it?'

You shake your head, folding your arms across your chest, 'No, I haven't.'

Leon turns back to you and you almost finch at the look of pain in his eyes, 'You want to know why I let you go in Sicily, Sao Paulo and Kazakhstan? Why I didn't turn you in to my superiors? It wasn't the sex Ada. It was you. Everything you are. I know you're a good person and that one day you'll realise that you're better than all this, better than Wesker, better than this life. I have faith in you.'

You cast your eyes downwards again, you can't even look at him anymore, 'Then your faith is misplaced.'

'I don't believe that, I never have,' he speaks urgently and decisively, walking towards you and kneeling on the dirty floor to meet your eyes, 'If I asked you, would you leave Umbrella?'

'What?' you whisper, 'It's pointless even speculating…'

'Just listen. Hypothetical scenario. If I could guarantee your safety with the government, the FBI, CIA, get you immunity from what you've done in the past, get you a job and a safe place to live, free from Wesker and Umbrella, would you take it? I'm not asking you to be with me if that's not what you want. But I can see it in your eyes that every time you mention your work, Wesker or Umbrella, it's killing you inside.'

You almost laugh at the irony of what he's just said. He's offering you a job with the government, not knowing that you already have one, that you're both working for the same side and that this is the reason you can't be together. Damned if you do, double damned if you don't. You feel like screaming. Staring into the earnest expression on his face you are deeply tempted to tell him everything, to run away with him like you've wanted to for the past seven years, but you know it'll only make things worse for him. He needs to leave the room right this second and forget that he ever knew you. He needs to simply chalk up the whole experience with you as a bad dream. It's better that he thinks you're just a heartless bitch that used him till you got bored of his company and his body.

_This is my gift to you beloved. I'm so sorry._

'Don't be ridiculous,' you almost sneer at him, 'Do you have any idea how foolish you sound? I tried to make this easy for you, to let you leave with dignity, but if you want me to be frank then I will be. This isn't a fairytale Leon. We can't just slay the dragon and live happily ever after. Umbrella has given me everything I want, something you could never do.'

Leon almost reels backwards like you've just struck him across the face. You're revolted with yourself now but you stay composed, using the energy generated from your self-loathing to keep your expression faultless and cool, like the surface of a still pond. You watch with a mixture of triumph and anguish as Leon believes everything you want him to. As his face darkens with fury and resentment. As he believes that when push comes to shove, you'd choose Albert Wesker over him.

'Then I guess I'm wasting both your time and mine,' he replies bitterly, 'Good bye Ada.'

He's gone before you can even think of replying. The door falls shut with a loud bang behind him and you hear his footsteps pounding up the stairs almost as though he can't wait to be gone from here and away from you.

You close your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself in a bruising grip to stop the trembling that strikes your body. It's then that you almost collapse inside, the breath you've been holding, for what seems like several hours, bursts through your lips. Slamming your palm violently on the table top beside you, you swiftly stand, shakily running your fingers through your hair. When you're satisfied that you appear presentable, you straighten your black coat and step back out into the world to face your fate alone; half a woman, half a soul, moving but dead to the world.

* * *

_Part of me enjoyed writing this chapter but another part of me just felt so terrible for Leon and mean for doing this to the poor guy. So I'm sorry if I've depressed anyone with this chapter. But don't worry- the story's not over yet! I'll hopefully update by next Monday at the latest. :-)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Cry Havoc- Part One**

_Author's note: Once again- thanks a big bunch for the reviews :-)_

_And I'd like to give a big wet kiss on the cheek to List of Romantics! I'm so glad, not to mention dizzily relieved, that my description of San Francisco was accurate. I'd love to go there one day actually as it looks lovely._

_Alright, the next chapter is shorter and more plot based, as is the one after it that I'll update on Wednesday. They are basically a build up to the pivotal chapter of the story where you learn exactly what Ada is up to and why. I'll hopefully put that particular chapter up on Monday._

**August 14****th**** 2005, 4.15pm: ****John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York**

Your eyes are closed but you're not asleep. You're simply avoiding the talkative passenger to your left who probably thinks he can score with you if he plays his cards right. It's been hours since you last tried to get some rest and the result had been an utter disaster. The almost 24 hour long plane ride had been an exercise in insomnia as you avoided the dreams, or rather the nightmares, of Leon that ambushed you in the dark. Hypnotic suggestion was a powerful thing. The little aspects of life, so inconsequential and almost irrelevant, that they slip through the cracks of your mind and wreak mayhem on your subconscious. Like the young boy with blonde hair that sits in the front row of the plane, the Rocky Road ice cream on the airline menu or the bottomless blue of the ocean. You have successfully barred Leon from your conscious thoughts since you'd left the States for your mission in Sydney. But your usually dreamless sleep is invaded by these random images as they break apart inside your mind and reassemble themselves in the shape of him.

_I don't think I've introduced myself yet. My name's Leon, I'm with the RPD._

_Look, Ada, as an officer, it's my job to look out for you, but we're not going to get through this alive if we don't work together. Okay?_

_Is it just me, or does everybody always ignore what I say?_

_We're leaving this lace together._

_I don't believe this. Annette was right...about everything..._

_I'm not the one with a history of deceit. You are._

You were shaken out of the last bout of dreams by a pocket of turbulence, your fingers sore from clutching desperately on the armrest. During the rest of the flight itself you'd probably had about two hours of real rest in total.

_Snap out of this damn it! You did what you had to do, what you should have done months ago._

'American Airlines flight 279 from Sydney to New York is approaching the runway. All passengers are to fasten their seatbelts for the rest of the flight, thank you,' the sunny stewardess announces and you stretch your legs out uncomfortably.

It takes almost an hour to get through passport control and baggage claim. According to your passport your name is Linda Hu. You're a stockbroker from Long Island whose returning from a tiresome business trip to Australia. You're recently engaged and missing your fiancé terribly, though you have plans for a romantic getaway next weekend. At least that's what you'll say if anyone asks. You're wearing a charcoal grey suit and skirt; you're every inch the innocent businesswoman. Your black high heels crack sharply on the crisp marble floor as you stride through the terminal dragging a light, wheeled suitcase behind you. The terminal is bustling with people, but there's only one person you're concerned to see. You deftly slip a small data stick out of your pocket and conceal it in your hand.

_It's show time._

The mission in Sydney had been a success. It had taken only a couple of days to infiltrate the IUC's main factory, glide in, and copy the information both Wesker and Shaw had asked for. You had evaluated the wisdom of deliberately corrupting Wesker's copy of the data. It'd slow him down immeasurably. But it'd probably blow your cover too. You'd decided, reluctantly, to do what Shaw had asked of you. You've made two identical copies of the data, one for them, one for Wesker. Nevertheless, as you prepare to meet with Agent Rodriguez from The Organisation, you let yourself feel a glimmer of hope that you are making a difference and that some day soon Wesker will be nothing but a footnote in the history of biological warfare.

You pretend to browse the advertisements in the airport terminal for several minutes before you spot Agent Rodriguez strolling calmly through the complex, his long, brown trench coat flapping as he walks. The Organisation often used Rodriguez for low profile, secret meetings. He's tall and thin, with almost weasel-like facial features, and he's such a gentile and calm kind of man that many would never suspect him of being an agent of the U.S. government's most clandestine organisation. He weaves through the crowd accidentally bumping into a young couple. He turns to laughingly apologise and continues in your direction. You grip the data stick tightly in your palm and without looking at Rodriguez, plot a path that will place you right next him. You know Rodriguez has seen you as he slips his hand out of his pocket ready to intercept the package. You're within metres of him now and you prepare yourself for the exchange.

But by the time you hear the first scream it's already too late. An explosion of sound ruptures the air and you instinctively drop your case, throwing yourself to the ground. You recognise it; it's gunfire! You are dimly aware of the screams and pounding of feet as the crowd parts around you, but adrenaline and twenty years of training allow you block it out and focus on the situation. The gunshot had come from your left, but the echo of the airport makes it hard to be sure. It was no handgun though and you knew that for sure. It sounded like an M40 sniper rifle, the type usually reserved for the U.S. Marines.

_How the hell did they get that past security? I'm impressed. Oh shit! Rodriguez!_

You stay low as you wade through the fleeing crowd and find him in a puddle of blood with a hole in his skull.

_Oh no. No! Damn it._

Another shot rings through the air and the bullet strikes the floor barely a metre from you. Out of the corner of your eye you see several armed police officers yelling into portable radios and heading in your direction. Stuffing the data stick into your skirt pocket you dash towards the exit and follow the crowd as they escape the terminal. A thousand thoughts are careening through your head but you can only come to one conclusion. Wesker. Your cover's been blown somehow and your life is in serious danger. There's already been one attempt on your life and your contact is dead.

But the hows and whys can wait for a moment. You need to get out of the line of fire first. Several more shots of gunfire resonate in the air and the chaos reaches its height, you're almost trampled by the hysterical crowd as you sprint for the main doors. Just before you reach the door you double back seamlessly and duck into a small alcove. The gunshots have stopped and you allow yourself some time to catch your breath. You need to find out who's behind this and this may be your only chance to do so.

'Miss! What are you doing here?' a loud voice calls out to you.

You turn sharply to find a solitary airport guard jogging towards you; the radio on his belt picks up the frenzied activities of the authorities as they scan the perimeter for their mystery sniper. He gets a little closer to you and you spot the gun in his holster. Due to strict airport security you had been unable to conceal a weapon of your own. You were unarmed. But of course you couldn't let things stay that way.

'I'm sorry,' you reply, subtly injecting a note of fear into your voice, 'I got a little lost when the gunfire started and…'

'That's fine Miss, but you really need to get going,' he reaches for your arm and you snatch it back suddenly, throwing him off balance. Before he can recover you kick him hard on the back of his legs almost sending him to his knees. He attempts to retaliate but you simply rip the gun from his shoulder holster and use it to strike the back of his head, knocking him to the ground unconscious.

'Sorry about that,' you remark dryly as you remove the holster and an extra ammo clip from his jacket.

You throw your suit jacket to the ground and fling the gun-holster over your shoulders. You also take his radio, hook it to the inside of the holster and slip the earpiece on. Avoiding surveillance cameras and open areas you quickly circle the main terminal building and return to the baggage claim area. The sniper had to have had the higher ground, a good field of view but be hidden from passers by, not to mention the police. After a few minutes you're able to pick out the various conversations on the police radio. You learn that a perimeter has been placed around Rodriguez's body and that both the north and south sections that lead from the area are empty, but that bullet shell casings had been left in the latter of the two sections. The sniper must have packed up and left, but hadn't 'policed his brass' or in other words hadn't cleaned up after himself. It may have been due to time constraints but from the direct hit on Rodriguez you know that this person had to be a professional. He or she had left their bullet shell casings deliberately as a message to you, as a signature, like drawing their name in their victim's blood.

The police have begun to spread out from the spot so you avoid them by taking a service elevator to the basement levels of the airport. You plan to see if the route can be used to pass right under the police blockade. The evacuation of this part of the complex is complete and you remember it from the notices you had read earlier. It's a private area where shipping companies park their vehicles. The whole floor is dark, damp, and full of cars, industrial lorries and shipping containers. It's not for public use, but with the commotion upstairs the guards have disbanded to help with the search, simply locking the door behind them and setting the security alarm. You're about to double back once more. But suddenly you see that the casing around the security lock has been breached. You tentatively peel the case away to see that the wires have been spliced and the security system overridden. You smile shrewdly. It seems as though you and the sniper think alike. You ready your weapon and push hard on the door to the car park. Holding the gun high, you stay low and quickly duck behind a red transport truck. As far as you can see the place is empty.

_Come out, come out wherever you are._

A barrage of bullets erupts over your head and you dodge them. The moment silence falls you return fire and roll out of the way. The noise is coming from the opposite end of the car park and if you didn't act soon you were going to lose your target or worse. The sniper fires again and you catch a small glimpse of him. Male, mid-thirties, dark hair, average height, deliberately unremarkable. You hear another burst of rapid fire. Either this man was a lousy shot or he's just toying with you. You grimly realise it's the latter as the bullets had sounded closer this time, as if he wants to be within viewing range to watch you die. He's coming back towards you! Your pulse hammers in your throat as you tug the radio mike from your ear, turning the volume up as high as you can. You gently drop it to the floor and silently duck behind a nearby shipping crate.

_I've had a bad day, a 24-hour flight, no sleep and I've just lost my job. God help you, you son of a bitch!_

The chatter from the radio attracts the sniper just like you'd planned and he circles the truck, handgun trained on the noise. You step out and raise your weapon the second he's in range.

'Don't move,' you yell advancing towards him. He's dressed in regulation black, a gold chain around his wrist. You see his shoulders stiffen as you get closer.

'Ada Wong I presume?' he asks. His accent is Western European, Spanish or Portuguese perhaps.

'You know exactly who I am,' you reply, 'But who are you? Who do you work for?'

He scoffs; his voice is thick with resentment, 'Wesker. But you knew that didn't you?'

You smile darkly, 'Confirmation is always useful. Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly.'

'If you'd been a few centimetres to the right I would have got you, you know. No matter how good a marksman someone is, fate or god or whatever always has the upper hand,' he says, staying completely still.

'I said turn around and put your hands where I can see them.'

'Aren't you curious as to how Wesker knew you were betraying him? Do you know why I hit your informant first? It was so you'd know that you had failed before you died,' he spins around suddenly, levelling his gun at you.

You react almost instantly firing your weapon. Pain instantly spears your right shoulder as you squeeze the trigger, throwing you back onto the concrete. You hit the floor hard, badly bruising your hip and you attempt to scramble to your feet again, but your legs are shaking from the impact. Your left hand flies to your shoulder and you feel the sticky wetness of blood smear your fingers. The bullet appears to have grazed your arm, it hurts like hell but it's not deep. Nothing a little morphine and some antiseptic wouldn't cure anyway. Your head snaps up and you see the sniper laid out on the floor with his arms sprawled at his sides. He's not moving. Breathing deeply and cradling your right arm tenderly, you crawl over to him and close your eyes in relief at the sight of the clean bullet wound through his heart.

_Looks like fate really wasn't on your side today. My condolences._

You can get a closer look at his face now. He has a heavyset jaw, hooded eyes and two deep scars running parallel to each other across his forehead. You don't recognise him. He looks like the kind of thug a man like Wesker would hire, but not for a job like this. If Wesker had wanted you dead he'd have sent someone better than this. Someone more patient, clinical. Someone like you. You riffle through the dead man's jacket and remove several ammo cases as well as a slim, silver mobile phone. You scroll through its call records noting than only a single number had ever called it. Hesitating for only a second you press redial and hold it to you ear. After three shrill rings a female voice answers the call.

'Garcia? I asked you not to call this number until the job was over. Is she dead or have you just called to ask for more money _again_? Garcia?'

You should have known. Who else would hire such a flamboyantly brutal and egotistical assassin? You glare threateningly at the corpse on the floor before murmuring softly into the phone at your ear, 'Garcia's dead, Max.'

You disconnect immediately and throw the phone onto Garcia's body. You had known Max wasn't fond of you, but this was a bold action even for her. She was proud enough and hated you enough to underestimate you, but she wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She couldn't afford to. If Max knew that you were working for The Organisation then Wesker must know too. But why did she organise the hit and not him? Wesker was a control freak and killing you was a job he'd want complete control of. It didn't make sense. Unless Max had gone rogue and was doing all of this without Wesker's input.

You stop beside one of the cars and grip the hood tightly with your left hand as you try to reassemble your wits. Things were falling apart at the seams now, the plates you've been spinning continuously for several years have crashed to the floor and now you have to sweep up those shards and start again. You hang your head and exhale loudly, your limbs beginning to shake, your blood almost burning. It's the shock, it tended to accelerate the symptoms of your illness. You need your medication but they're in your suitcase.

_Shit! _

This day just keeps on getting worse. You'd laugh if you weren't so exhausted.

You push away from the car and kneel next to Garcia again. You heave his body over and yank his black coat from his cooling corpse. You slip it on to conceal your gun holster before grabbing his firearm and emptying his wallet. From the look of things your head was worth a five thousand dollar cash advance. You're touched. You have one place left to go, and that's to Shaw and The Organisation. You have to make sense of this and you know exactly where to start.

_If Max wants a battle, I'll give her one._

* * *

**Next chapter is up on Wednesday :-)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: Cry Havoc- Part Two**

_Author's note: Here's the next part, enjoy!_

_Blindfolded Angel: No, I haven't read The Dream Thief before. Who's it by? It sounds interesting :-) _

* * *

**November 15****th**** 2005, 9.32pm: ****Flamingo Casino, Las Vegas**

The devil's playground, Las Vegas, Nevada. Several buildings are lit with golden lights along Las Vega's Strip, the Paris Casino's miniature version of the Eiffel Tower pierces the night sky and countless lights and fireworks are a gaudy substitute for the starless expanse of the sky. You've been to Vegas about eight times before, more often for business than for pleasure. And tonight is no different. You're standing before a deep purple and pink flower constructed entirely of electric lights and crowning the Flamingo Hotel and Casino. That's your next stop according to the intel on Max's activities you've helped to gather for the past three months.

'Rouge Butterfly, report!'

The comm piece buzzes in your ear as you enter the main building and walk calmly towards the main casino entrance. As you pass by one of the large, ornate mirrors in the foyer you stop to examine your appearance. You've changed it so many times in the past that you're surprised you even remember dying your hair a deep honey shade of blonde two days ago. Your hair is still in its typical style, the ends gracefully caressing your chin, but the new colour is striking against your pale skin and deep red lips. Necessity had demanded a new look every now and again- brunet, red head, even blue for a while. Both Max and Umbrella were after you, but you had managed to stay one step ahead for the time being by slipping in and out of a new skin every time you could feel them sniffing at your heels. You're wearing an elegant Asian style dress with a high neck and a hem that brushes your knees. It's deep red and has several buttons down the side. It is absolutely perfect, for the mission ahead and for covering up the newest symptoms of your…condition. Previously, all signs of the illness were internal- fatigue, aches and pains. But now several red, thin marks had begun to show up on the skin around your chest. Strange how something like this could make it all seem more real to you and spur you on even more in your mission.

'I'm at the Flamingo,' you mutter softly, 'No sign of Max yet. Are we sure she's even here?'

Shaw's voice sounds even more uptight over the earpiece than it does in person, 'According to our sources, yes she is.'

'The same sources that have had me in Tokyo, Kenya and London in a single week?' you smirk despite your growing frustration at the wild goose chase The Organisation have had you on for months.

After the debacle at JFK airport you had made your way to a safe house owned by the government. From there you had met with Shaw and several other high-ranking members of The Organisation, most of whom you had never even met. Over the coming weeks it was revealed that Max had done something you'd never thought she would. She had betrayed Wesker, 'S' and their new Umbrella Corp, branching out on her own. But it hadn't stopped there unfortunately. Max and her team, also fugitives who had betrayed Wesker, had raided several Umbrella facilities and government establishments. Within a fortnight they had samples of both the Venus and the Las Plagas viruses. Last week they got their hands on the Gemini virus to complete their unholy trinity of bio-organisms. Shaw had been apoplectic; you can only imagine how Wesker had reacted and who had been unfortunate enough to be in his line of fire at the time. For the past three months you had been trailing Max as she had independently begun to re-enact the scheme that had been Wesker's brainchild. She wants to combine the three virus strains and create a super weapon that could hold entire nations to ransom.

'Oh, Max is here,' Shaw replies sounding more confident than he had in weeks, 'She's meeting with Alonzo Bianci in the penthouse suite tonight at 11pm.'

'Bianci? As in the chairman of "Costa"?' you ask, remembering your mission to Sicily six months ago and your hunt for the Venus virus. The memory also triggers a few other recollections involving an empty train compartment and a pair of strong, loving hands.

_Leon_.

You shiver and force the memories away.

'The very same,' Shaw continues, 'It seems as though Costa don't want to be small fry anymore and Max needs to quickly amass a supply of scientists and equipment to create her own empire and rival Wesker. After the lab in Sicily and the Venus prototype were destroyed seven months ago, "Costa" has fallen apart and now Bianci is looking for a new partner to start up again.'

You frown at the mirror and pretend to adjust your hair, whilst keeping a close eye on the patrons that exit and enter the casino, 'I'll keep you updated. I'm going radio silent. The casino has monitoring devices that detect active communications devices and scramble them. Rouge Butterfly out.'

It takes you a few minutes to scout out the main casino floor. Neither Max nor Bianci have shown up yet so you bide your time with a cocktail- a 'Kiss in the Dark' Martini. You win over a thousand dollars at Blackjack in the process. You have no use for the money, but it's the thrill of the game that keeps you occupied while you wait.

At 10.52 you hear a commotion over by the bar and you turn to look. A burley man with dark brown hair and a moustache is arguing with the bartender over the service charge. He's wearing a black dinner jacket that would look more at home on a chimpanzee. But he looks familiar and it's not until he turns around that you realise he's one of Wesker's old grunts, Pete Biggs. Last you'd heard he had defected to join Max. You smile and rise from your seat. Biggs throws his arms up into the air and turns away, retreating back to the main hotel before security can be called. He's carrying a tray with several glasses of champagne that Max was probably hoping would seal the deal with Bianci.

Now you know that they're here at least. You grab your purse and walk out of the casino and to the busy hotel reception desk. You flick on your earpiece and wait for Shaw.

'We've booked a room for you under the name "Kelly Chen",' he mutters over the communications device, 'You're in room 404, with your husband Michael.'

'Got it,' you reply and switch it off again.

With a calculated sway and stumble you approach the desk, smiling broadly.

'I've misplaced my room key,' you whisper seductively to the young man in charge of the desk. He looks about 25 and you wouldn't be surprised if this was his first night at the front desk.

His face goes a little pink as he gapes at you, his eyes flicking to your lips, 'I'm sorry Miss but I'll have to see some ID.'

You let out an exasperated huff and rummage through the purse. In the process you drop the entire contents on the floor. Crying out, you drop down and begin clumsily gathering it all up again. The boy rushes around the counter to help.

'Are you alright?' he asks urgently.

You sway gently and he grabs your arm to steady you, 'I'm feeling a little…under the weather. I've had too much fun tonight I guess.'

'Should I call someone down to help?'

'Please don't! I promised my husband that I wouldn't spend any more time in the casino and…' you break off and stare dejectedly at the floor.

'It's okay. Just tell me your name and room number and I'll look it up,' the boy grins bashfully as you reach up to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

'Kelly Chen, 404.'

He dashes back to his computer and inputs the data, 'Do you need help getting back? I could call someone to cover for me and…'

'No, thank you,' you smile as you slip the keycard from his hands, 'You've been such a sweetheart already.'

The elevator takes you as far as the 14th floor of the hotel. The penthouse suite is on the 15th floor and only accessible via a private elevator. The corridor outside the elevator is empty and you spot a security camera above it. But it's not the elevator you need right now; it's the fire escape.

'Shaw,' you whisper into your earpiece, 'I need you to loop the feed of the video cameras on the 14th floor for about 30 seconds.'

'Okay, you ready?' he asks.

'Do you even need to ask?'

'Looping the feed…now.'

You run headlong down the corridor to the fire exit and pull your cell phone from your bag. You flip it open to reveal two wires and attach them to the fire exit security system, ensuring that the alarm won't be triggered when you open the door. You slip through and climb stealthily up the fire escape and reach the roof of the building. You avoid the security lights and head straight towards the ventilation system. Pulling a small, powerful camera from your bag, you lower the tiny device gently into the vent, connecting the other end to your PDA. The small screen flickers to life, gifting you with a clear image of the penthouse suite's living area through the air vent on its south wall.

_I could get used to these little toys._

You can see two bodyguards loitering around the room, one sipping on a beer and flicking from channel to channel on the wide screen TV. With a little adjustment your wireless earpiece manages to pick up the soft layers of noise from the suite.

'Are they here yet?' one guard asks, pacing the floor beside the door, 'And should you be drinking that?'

The man on the couch, bald and wearing a dark blue shirt, replies sharply, 'Shut the hell up Greg. You sound just like _her_. And last I heard you ain't paying my wages, so you ain't the one I'm gonna listen to.'

'Fine,' Greg smirks, 'I'm sick of waiting. I can't believe I left Wesker to play babysitter to a chick and some Italian jerk.'

The door swings open and the bald man jumps to his feet, 'Shit! Pete, you scared the hell out of us!'

Pete Biggs enters with the champagne you had seen him with earlier and sets it on the table, 'She's on the way up. You two better straighten this place out.'

'Or what? She'll fire us. Right now I'd consider it a blessing,' Greg sneers as he reluctantly straightens out the furniture.

Minutes later Max enters, dressed in a powder blue trouser suite, her blonde hair slicked back and a black lace blouse peeping out from under her jacket. Bianchi follows her in. He's shorter than he looks in the photographs you've seen.

'Leave us,' Max barks at the guards, and all three hustle out of there as quickly as they can. You smirk at how easily their bravado was extinguished.

'Champagne Signore Bianchi?' Max asks, tilting an empty glass in his direction.

'No grazie,' he mutters blandly and sits on the couch, legs apart.

Max pours herself a glass of champagne, 'Have you had time to consider my offer?'

'I have.'

'And?'

'Ten million and you can have 51 percent of the business,' he replies, flicking his shoulder-length black hair from his eyes.

Max sips her drink and you can see her wandering out of view of the camera, 'That's 15 percent more than what I've offered, and 50 percent more than what your company is worth on the stock market.'

'If you take the conventional route it'll take years to get control of my company. Do it my way and you get instant gratification.'

Max's deep laugh resonates from the other end of the room, 'Instant huh? That's quite tempting.'

She returns in view of the camera, her jacket discarded and her blouse unbuttoned at the neck, 'But I'll have to decline.'

'Then I can leave and sell the goods to Wesker.'

'Not quite yet Bianci,' she sits next to him, 'I think I can get you to reconsider. Wesker is on the way out. His ego has taken him to depths that it'll take years for him to crawl out of. With the American government all tied up in international scandal and warfare, _now_ is the perfect time to launch the Trinity bio-weapon onto the world.'

'You have yet to offer me any solid proof of this weapon or Wesker's weakness,' Bianchi replies, his voice dripping with distrust.

'Oh I can give you more than that,' she stands and walks into the back of the room. A second later she returns with a disk in her hands, 'This disk holds information with regards to all of Wesker's contacts within 'S'- the very foundation of his new Umbrella Corp. With this we can break down his organisation.'

'Really? And where does my company stand in all this?'

'As very rich men eventually,' Max smoothly replies, 'And of course you'll have revenge on the man who sent a spy to destroy your lab in Sicily and steal from you.'

Bianchi pauses for a moment and then leans closer to Max, 'I will have a glass of that champagne now.'

'What's the occasion?' Max asks coyly.

Bianchi shrugs, 'I'm celebrating a good business deal.'

Max laughs and walks slowly to the table, 'There's a warehouse outside of Vegas, in the Nevada desert. It's the location of one of Wesker's largest North American technological labs. We can start there, if you're willing.'

'I'll supply the men,' he replies, 'When?'

'In less than two days the facility will be preparing to deliver its latest prototype. It's an industrial virus synthesiser. It's totally unique and experimental. I need it to make enough vials of the Trinity bio-weapon to complete my plans. We start early and…'

The sound of gun trigger snaps behind your head and you spin around to find yourself surrounded by four armed men dressed in black stealth gear and armed with assault rifles.

_Just perfect!_

'Ada Wong,' the closest one growls at you, 'We thought you were dead.'

You stare back at them calmly, keeping completely still with the PDA still in your hand, 'You thought wrong.'

The second man lunges at your purse, snatching it from you and pawing through it looking for a weapon.

'Wesker's gonna pay a high price for you Ada. Alive or dead. So if I were you I'd play nice,' the first man sneers, 'Drop what you're holding and stand up.'

'Wesker?' you raise an eyebrow up at him, 'You don't work for Max? I thought most of you had disbanded from Umbrella and joined up with her.'

The man chuckles, 'She didn't interest me. Now put your hands up!'

You nod and slowly stand. Wesker has sent guards after Max it seems. You need a distraction to turn them against each other so you can escape.

Stealthily, you disconnect the camera from the PDA as you drop it to the ground. The microphone and camera slip cleanly and unnoticed through the ventilation shaft. You wince as your earpiece picks up the loud clatter of the devices when they hit the bottom.

Your earpiece picks up Max's loud cry as she hears the camera hitting the base of the vent shaft. Seconds later you can hear Max bark out orders to her guards in the penthouse suite, 'What was that noise? Get to the roof. _Now_!'

'Are you here for Max?' you ask Wesker's men. You're playing for time and gambling away every last piece of luck you have.

'Like that's your concern,' the first man replies levelling his weapon at you threateningly, 'Remove the earpiece. I know it's in there.'

You do as he says, dropping the earpiece to the ground.

You smile broadly, 'We could work together. My loyalties aren't exactly fixed in stone you know.'

'I'll consider it,' he grins for a few moments, 'Hmm. Nope. You're worth about half a million to Umbrella and I need a new car.'

'Hands up Ada,' the second guard calls to you and slips out a pair of cuffs from his belt.

As you slowly turn around, the entrance to the roof is blasted open and several of Max's guards burst through firing handheld machine guns at Wesker's goons. You spin around knocking the second guard to the ground as Wesker's men become embroiled in a fire-fight around you. You grab the second guard's rifle and strike him hard on the head with the handle. He's knocked out cold and you bend down to grab your car keys from the floor. You need to get out of here and you can't do so on foot. Wesker's men have taken cover and you do the same at the opposite end of the roof. You raise the gun, aim it at the security lights and fire, plunging your side of the roof into a half-darkness. Max's men have split up as they attempt to take down the remaining three of Wesker's mercenaries and you take the opportunity to dash for the roof exit and down the stairs. You reach the 15th floor and take a right down the hall.

Suddenly one of Max's guards appears and flies towards you, managing to catch you by surprise and knocking the gun from your hand. He throws you against the wall and your head is smacked brutally against it. You bit back a curse and block his next kick with your arm. He reaches for his weapon and you grab his wrist. With your other hand you punch him twice hard in the stomach, causing him to drop the gun. He grunts in pain and doubles over. You dive for the gun but he stops you and grabs your arms from behind, propelling you forward towards the wall. You lift your legs and kick away from the wall sending the man hurtling backwards. You smile as you hear his head crack sharply on a mounted fire extinguisher behind you. He lets go of you as he falls limp to the ground.

'Very good Ada.'

Looking up you see Max standing alone at the end of the hallway aiming a Berretta in your direction.

'Max,' you reply almost sweetly, 'Long time no see.'

She grins, 'I should have known it was you. Nice hair by the way. I almost didn't recognise you. How's business?'

'Good. And you?'

'Better than ever,' she walks towards you, each footfall purposeful and controlled, 'Especially since I left Wesker.'

'And why did you do that? Why betray him?'

'I didn't betray him. I'm doing all this _for_ him. Wesker is a great man, but since the Spencer Mansion incident, he's lost focus on his work and made this all too personal. He'll thank me in the end. I'm saving him from himself. Whether it's hunting down his old enemies, like Redfield and Valentine, or becoming embroiled in company politics to get to the top of S Corp, he's lost sight of what's important. After all, he let you fool him for months,' she bites her bottom lip in delight, 'Don't you want to know how I knew you were betraying Umbrella?'

'I had wondered.'

'In Kazakhstan. I returned to the central lab early and found you gone. I waited outside till you got back. I knew you had gone to get more samples of the viruses. From then on I watched you very closely. It was entertaining. But I must admit I'm a little unsure of who it is you're working for exactly.'

'Curious?'

'Very.'

'You make me feel so special,' you roll your eyes.

Max stops a metre in front of you, her breath is hot and laced with alcohol, 'Enjoy the feeling while it lasts.'

'Max!' a gruff voice screams from the stairway behind you.

You both spin round to spot one of Wesker's guards, bloodied and limping towards you. His left eye is swollen and bleeding, his right arm looks broken. Roaring wildly, he lifts his rifle and blindly fires at you both. You dive out of the way as Max returns fire, shooting the guard clean through the face. Without hesitation you run down the hall and down the stairs towards the private underground car park.

Behind you, you can hear several of Max's guards clambering down the stairs in your direction. Your feet pound the concrete as you tear through the lot, ignoring the perplexed stares of the parking attendants you shove past on your way. You're metres from the exit when you feel it. A sharp stabbing pain in your chest. It feels as though someone's uncorking your heart like it's a bottle of champagne.

_No. Not now! Please not now!_

You throw yourself into the busy Las Vegas street; Max's men are only a few metres away now. The sidewalk is bustling with loud and intoxicated gamblers and tourists, the road clogged with fancy cars. A gunshot echoes in the air behind you and people scream, the crowd parting like torn fabric.

_Shit!_

Your car is parked two blocks away and you need to get out of here now! But you're gasping for breath already and your legs are buckling under you. The Las Vegas lights swim before your eyes as stumble, almost falling to meet the pavement.

'Ada!' a large, black car pulls up in front of you screeching to a halt, 'Get in!'

Your first instinct is to run like hell in the opposite direction but your eye catches sight of the driver.

'Leon?' you gasp.

'Now!' he shouts, throwing the passenger door open.

You jump into the car and slam the door shut as Leon accelerates down the Las Vegas Strip, bullets chasing the vehicle as it speeds away.

'What are you doing here?' you turn to him, your expression furious.

He keeps his eyes locked onto the road before replying with grim sarcasm, 'You're welcome. Don't mention it.'

You stare at him for a moment, assessing his dark brown outfit. It reminds you of the one he wore in Spain last year. He looks exhausted. His eyes are dark and dilated, but he's still so damn handsome it throws you for a moment. You can't believe he's here and you wonder for a second if you're unconscious and your mind has conjured him up again. Why the hell is he here?

'Take the next left,' you tell him.

He turns to you, 'What the hell? There are men with guns after us if you hadn't noticed…are you alright? You look a little…'

'I'm fine!' you snap, 'My car is a block away. I need my bag from the trunk.'

'No,' he yells, 'We're getting out of here.'

Your chest tightens and you grasp your throat, 'Leon, do it. Please. I need…'

'Ada? What's wrong?'

'Nothing, just…'

You cry out in anguish and duck forwards on your seat. Leon calls out to you and he reaches out a hand to your face.

'Just hold on! I'm getting you to a doctor.'

'It…it…won't make a difference. I need my pills from my bag in the trunk of my car!'

'Ada, don't be stupid! You're not well.'

You roll your eyes and sit up stiffly. You reach for the top buttons of your dress and pull them open revealing the red marks on your skin. Leon does a double take when he sees them, his face a mixture of disbelief and horror. He almost swerves the car off the road.

'Where's your car?' he asks.

You direct him to a back road off the Strip and when he finds it you move to get out of the car.

'Hey,' Leon restrains you and you attempt to push him away. But you're already completely drained, 'Give me the keys.'

You do so and he gets out, returning a second later with the case containing all your extra gear. You mumble a thank you and reach inside the bag, pulling out a plastic bottle of red and black pills. Leon watches anxiously as you swallow two of them. He starts up the car again and drives towards the Las Vegas city limits.

'Where are we going?' you ask, your speech a little slurred. Your eyes fall closed under the almost lead-like weight of your eyelids. Your brains feels like it's being wrapped in a warm blanket.

'Somewhere safe,' you hear Leon reply, his voice husky.

Your head bobs gently as you find yourself tilting towards the side of his car. You fight to stay awake but the medication is already kicking in; your chest loosens and your limbs fall lifeless at your sides.

'Leon?' you mumble softly, your head leaning against the headrest and sleep tugging you into the void.

'Yeah?' he replies.

'I missed you.'

* * *

Next chapter up on Monday! xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Unconditional **

_Author's note: _

_Thanks, hugs and kisses for all of the reviews!_

_I meant to put this up yesterday but I (as always) forgot that it was a bank holiday and that the internet cafe would be closed on Monday. :-( But without further ado, here she is. Hopefully this chapter will answer a lot of questions. It also comes laden with angst but there's also plenty of Leon and Ada loveliness too._

**November 16****th**** 2005, 3.15pm: ****Riverside Motel, Las Vegas**

Time has a funny way of bending and stretching when you're sleeping. Hours feel like seconds, the minutes snatched away by dreams. You'd drifted in and out of consciousness for the entire ride in Leon's car, only waking periodically, bewildered and blinking at your surroundings before falling asleep once more. Leon had stopped at a gas station at least once during the journey from what you could remember. He'd bought you a bottle of water and, despite your protests, had insisted that you drink it all. But you'd only been able to keep down about half of its contents and as a result your stomach at present is almost empty and you're ravenous. You haven't eaten for almost a day now; the trip to Las Vegas had been so sudden that you'd barely had time to change clothes.

Leon is asleep to your right, in a chair by the bed; the slow rise and fall of his chest catching your eye. His jacket is flung over the small table in the corner next to a large bag. The suitcase from your car, containing your equipment and clothes, is by the door. Leon is wearing a tight black t-shirt with thick canvas jeans and his holster, complete with firearm, is still on his shoulders. His elbow is perched on the arm of the chair and his head is balanced precariously on his hand, swaying gently from time to time. His blonde locks fall like a curtain over his closed eyes. He'd only just fallen asleep a minute ago after watching over you for almost two hours since checking you both into this bargain-basement motel and gently tucking your half-unconscious form into the bed. But you had simply pretended to sleep for most of that time, rolling away from him as you planned out an escape strategy. The motel room was quite large, or perhaps this was an effect of the sporadic and minimalist furniture. Its mismatched styles dated from anywhere between the 1950s and today, caked in dust or strange, unidentifiable marks and dents. You're laying on an uneven mattress, too hard in parts, too lumpy in others, but there's no in-between. You felt like Goldilocks, which is pretty appropriate considering your new hair colour. You're wearing only your underwear now but you're sweating a little anyway. The blinds to the room's only window were down to shut out the harsh Vega's afternoon and a lazy ceiling fan rotates above you, casting it's shadow across the yellow quilt that lies over your body.

'Ada?' Leon stirs in the chair as his right arm stretches out over his head almost involuntarily and he flexes his stiff fingers.

You roll over to face him and find him staring at you, his eyes drooped and tired. He must have driven all night to get you here when he could, when he _should_, have just taken you to the nearest police station and washed his hands of you, getting away guilt free.

You purse your lips together and eye him saucily, 'You know, if you were any other man, I'd kill you for undressing me while I was unconscious.'

Leon glances at you in surprise and his eyebrows shoot half an inch up his forehead, 'Lucky I'm not any other man then.'

You smirk and rise into a sitting position, 'Hmmm. What time is it? Where are we?'

'It's half past three in the afternoon. You slept all night and all morning. We're at the Riverside Motel, a few hundred miles outside the city. I've checked us in under some assumed names,' Leon pauses and gives a soft laugh, 'I told them we'd married in Vegas and were on our honeymoon...'

'You weren't followed?' you interrupt.

'Do you think I'm an amateur?' he asks, a cynical grin twisting his lips.

Without replying, you simply shrug and gaze around, 'I can take it from here. You should leave.'

He folds his arms and chuckles incredulously, 'Oh I'm not going anywhere. You've got some explaining to do and I'm not leaving till you tell me what the hell is going on with you.'

As you try to sit up a bolt of pain bullets along the nerves in your torso causing you to twist violently at the waist. You clutch the quilt to your body and wince; your limbs are stiff, like you've been sleeping for months. As you glance down your eyes catch the red striations on your chest and stomach. They rise and fall before your eyes as you take several ragged breaths to force the pain away. Leon shifts in his chair, as if holding himself back from rushing to your side. You lean back against the bed head gasping for air and curling your legs under you.

'What are they?' he asks as you look up to meet his wide, almost nervous, eyes, 'It looks like…'

He trails off, his voice dissolving before it can form the words, so you finish for him. You'd long since gotten used to what was happening to your body.

'The effects of the T-Virus?' you ask calmly, 'Yes. It is.'

Leon's face remains composed but his eyes darken in fear and disbelief, his gaze raking your body, 'I…how? When? Damn it Ada, why didn't you tell me?'

You push away thoughts of concern and grief. You had never intended for him to find out. Especially not like this. You had decided that a long time ago even before Spain when you had known that you'd see him again. Denial was the only way you could cope, forget and give him the peace you'd never have yourself. Denial would have to do for now.

'Don't worry, I'm no zombie and it's not contagious. You're fine,' you reply blandly.

'That's not what I meant and you know it!' he runs a trembling hand through his hair and stands up to pace to the window. The dark shadows from the blinds cast stripes along his face and chest. He turns back to you, 'I've been following you for days. I saw you enter the Flamingo and I also saw Bianco and Max go in minutes later. It was her men that were after you wasn't it? I thought you were on the same side. And now you tell me this? Ada, what did you do?'

You pay no attention to his question, 'Why were you following me?'

'One of my contacts told me that one of Wesker's agents had betrayed him. I had an instinct it was you. I took three weeks leave from the CIA and I tracked you down by following Wesker and Max's movements.'

Laughing lightly, you turn away and hide your shaking hands beneath the quilt, 'You can't help yourself can you? I told you to leave. I don't need your help.'

'Like you didn't need my help last night or this morning?'

'Just go Leon. I'm serious, I don't want you here!'

'Well that's too damn bad!' he exclaims.

You slip out of the bed, limp across the room and grab a white towelling robe from the hook on the adjoining bathroom door. You thrust both arms into it and tighten it around your waist, 'I'm protecting you.'

'No,' he rounds the bed and walks towards you, 'You're protecting yourself and patronising me. Enough of this.'

You attempt to push past him but he grabs your arm.

'Ada, I'm serious.'

You glare up at him, furious and shattered, 'Let me go. Now.'

He loosens his grip but doesn't break contact, 'What's happened to you?'

You snatch your arm away from him and sit on the bed, calmly crossing your legs and rolling your eyes. Despite your demeanour your heart is racing, tiny diamonds of sweat are rolling down your brow. You reach around to clutch your aching stomach.

Leon watches you, 'Hungry? I bought you a sandwich. It's not spicy Cajun chicken but it looks edible.' He walks over to the table and rummages in his bag.

'I'm not hungry.'

He ignores you. In seconds he finds what he's looking for and tosses the wrapped package towards you. You catch it and stare blankly at the food parcel.

'Thank you,' you mutter inaudibly as Leon takes a seat in the armchair in the far corner of the room. Either he's trying to put more distance between you both or he's guarding the door in case you make a run for it. When he reaches round to remove his gun holster and place it onto the table beside him, you decide it's more likely to be the former.

You consider throwing the food aside but hunger wins out over your pride. You sink your teeth into the cool, generously stuffed BLT sub that's so large it barely fits into your hands. Silence fills the room as you finish the entire meal under Leon's persistent gaze. You normally hate being watched and Leon is irritating the hell out of you. But to be here with him, to look back at him like this, to smell him, to hear his breathing, you feel almost invigorated. You finish, daintily licking the mayonnaise from your fingertips.

'So, do blondes have more fun?' Leon's husky voice makes you pause for a moment.

'You should know,' you reply not looking at him.

You place the empty wrapper aside and move to lean against the wall. Your energy is giving out again, your body winding down to a serene sort of lethargy rather than an aching exhaustion, 'What do I have to do to get rid of you? I see you've disarmed me.'

'Tell me why there are bullet holes in the trunk of my car,' he replies sombrely.

You take a deep breath before looking up at him, 'Then you'll go?'

'If you want me gone by then, yeah. I'll go.'

You'd hoped to spare him from this, but if you were to find Max and stop her you'll needed to tell him the truth. Tell him everything. And though elation and relief roars through you, your heart twists sharply in your chest at the thought of how it will affect him. Still, you square your shoulders and begin.

'I don't work for Wesker anymore. I work for the United State's Government.'

The look on Leon's face is just priceless, he chokes on a burst of sceptical laughter, his arms trembling as he shifts fitfully in his chair, 'The government? I…shit! For how long?'

'Officially? For about a year,' you reply calmly, 'But I've been in contact with them for three years, trying to earn their trust. It was quite an effort on my part.'

'Yeah, I'll bet! Why wasn't I told?'

'I work for a clandestine group called The Organisation. They're top brass, a restricted group…'

'And no one below the director of the CIA knows much or anything about them, they're black ops. I've heard rumours, wild stories but nothing credible…' Leon interjects. You can see his mind working, trying to piece your disjointed lives together like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, 'That's why you didn't tell me? You couldn't trust me?'

'I couldn't take the risk,' you reply sternly, 'I'm working against Wesker now and my deal with The Organisation is paramount. I was not supposed to tell _anyone. _It was none of your business.'

'You don't think I have a vested interest in taking down Wesker once and for all? In making sure Raccoon City doesn't happen ever again? God, it was all I could think about in the years after it happened. All I could do to stop myself falling apart! I could have helped you,' he retorts.

'And you could have gotten yourself killed. My aim is to dismantle Wesker and his new associates from the inside. Max defected from Wesker's group months ago and placed a hit on my life shortly after you and I…decided to part ways. She plans to take over Wesker's research and finish the job she believes he's now incapable of completing for himself.'

You recall Max's plan for the Venus, Las Plagas and Gemini viruses as well as your first meeting with The Organisation. Leon listens, keenly processing the information.

Eventually he frowns and looks up to the ceiling, 'How did this all start? I know you betrayed Wesker to begin with…'

'Yes,' you reply gazing back at him, 'But not for the reasons you think. I guess I'll go back to the beginning. Wesker rescued me in Raccoon City, though I guess you know that already.'

You shudder remembering the sour stench of your own death, your body bruised and caked in blood, Wesker above you, his eyes frozen on your face.

'He injected me with a modified form of the T-Virus that he had perfected. It was a weakened version of the kind that had brought him back from the dead and altered his body. In my case it simply repaired my wounds and brought me back to almost complete health before disintegrating and flushing completely out of my body.'

Leon looks away, shaking his head in revulsion and rage, 'Then what?' he harshly bites out the words.

'I began to work for him again,' you continue.

It had been like slipping on a familiar dress; easy and comfortable. Unfortunately after a while the dress had no longer fit. Or rather _you_ had no longer fit the dress.

'After three months the symptoms began. I'd blackout on assignment, get aches and pains. Wesker's doctors found that my organs were failing. Apparently the T-Virus derivative was only a temporary stay from execution,' you inhale shakily, 'Wesker put me on a system of antibiotics and medication. When those failed he'd synthesised something different. He told me that eventually my body will adjust and I'll be off the meds.'

'But it hasn't has it?' Leon watches you sombrely, 'It's been six years and you're still sick. But if he's keeping you alive then why betray him?'

'Because he's a liar,' you reply softly, 'I've visited independent doctors, people I could trust more than Wesker's men, and the diagnosis was the same. Soon the medication will give out, stop being effective and there will be no cure. I'm dying Leon.'

His head snaps up and he looks terrified, 'No,' he rises and takes a step towards you. He looks like he's going to be ill, 'Ada. How can you…sit there and say that like it's nothing?'

_Good question, but you know the answer beloved. You just won't let yourself believe it and accept it like I have._

'I'm not afraid of what I've already been through. I've simply been given a little more time to set things right,' you speak in a calm, measured tone, like a grown-up explaining death to a child, 'Nothing's changed. I died seven years ago…'

'No,' he runs both hands through his pale gold hair and turns away from you.

'...right in front of you…'

'No!'

'...in Raccoon City.'

'Stop it!' he yells at you, his voice fracturing under the strain.

'You asked me! You wanted to know the truth and the truth is that I'm as good as dead and have been for years,' you snap at him, 'Soon what little medication I have left will run out.'

'And what the hell was I to you? A last fling because time wasn't on your side anymore?'

'No. I didn't plan any of that.'

I didn't plan you. How could I plan what we had? How could I even dream of something as beautiful as that?

'How long do you have?' he asks, glancing at you over his shoulder.

'Two months, one week and two days from today.'

'How can you be so sure?' he spins to face you, 'How can you know that?'

You close your eyes, 'It's…it's the day I plan to stop taking the medication.'

'What?' he walks towards the bed stopping a metre in front of you, 'Why?'

You smile faintly and remember what Jon had told you in another lifetime, 'Because I want to choose when and how I die. They're lucky, the people who can do that. They can go out knowing that they made a difference. I don't want to die on a life-support machine after several years battling something I can't ever hope to defeat.'

Leon takes in a ragged breath, you can practically see your words draining away his resolve, 'I don't believe this! The Ada Wong I know wouldn't just give up like that.'

'I haven't given up Leon. I'm doing what part of me has _always_ wanted to do, even before I met you,' you stand and approach him slowly as if he were a wounded animal, 'It's because of you that I have the will to do this. I thought you'd understand. I'm going down fighting and I'm taking Umbrella with me and anyone else who gets in my way.'

Leon looks up and you spot a shimmering line of moisture in his eyes. You stop in front of him and raise your hands to his chest, his erratic heartbeat tapping at your fingers. He blinks and attempts to calm his breathing, 'I do understand I just… Shit! Why does it have to be like this with us? This isn't fair...it isn't right! You deserve better than this…'

'No. I don't.'

'That's not true,' he shakes his head and reaches up to grab your hands, 'I can't persuade you to not do this can I? To find another doctor…a better one. I have contacts and they could get me some names…'

It feels like all the blood has drained from your heart as you listen to the determination and tenderness in his voice. You almost hate him for making you fear death for the first time in your life. You can barely stand to look at him now; you can barely stand to look at everything you're going to lose.

'No. It's over Leon. I'm planning to stop Max and to hopefully stop Wesker too. Max has a disk that could help The Organisation,' you look down at your feet and smirk, 'And just think, your missions will probably run a lot more smoothly without me in the shadows.'

'That's not funny,' Leon replies, 'I don't believe you're thinking of doing this on your own.'

You pull away and turn your back to him, 'I am. Now I've told you everything you need to know. You should go now.'

Leon ignores you, 'So, when you ended our…relationship. It was because of this?'

You shrug with practiced detachment, 'It was because neither of us could afford it anymore. It was too dangerous. That hasn't changed no matter how rosily optimistic you are.'

'Hey, don't take that tone with me. I'm sick of it!'

You flinch at the rough anger in his voice and throw your hands up into the air in exasperation, 'Too bad. Leave.'

'Do you know what I've spent the past three months doing?'

'I told you…' you mutter in warning. You're livid with him now, more so than ever.

'I've spent it cursing the day I ever met you,' he continues, 'I tried to brush you off, to stop caring and for a while it worked. I could live, work, eat, sleep. I even finally accepted an invitation to poker night with the guys. But when I got home I found that I had eight bottles of milk in the fridge and nothing else, I'd left a tap running, the TV on and the lights off. I was a mess and I hadn't even realised. I was just playing at being happy and normal Ada, but I'm not really. I never have been. Not at home, at the academy or the agency. No matter what I'm doing I only feel like I _belong_ when I'm with you,' he rolls his eyes, 'I'm on the fast track to a promotion, I'm working for the president and all I can think about is you. What kind of sick joke is that?'

You clench your hands together tightly and look back at him, 'Please. For your own good, just leave! Go back to that job Leon. Forget about me!'

He stares at you thoughtfully, infuriatingly collected and certain, 'You sure you want me to go? In the car you said you missed me.'

'Well, that was some pretty powerful medication I was on.'

Leon chuckles, a half-genuine smile breaks out on his beautiful face. You feel like returning the smile, falling into your familiar banter with him like a child diving into the comfort of a warm bed on a freezing night. But all too soon your body reminds you both of the reality of the past few hours and you convulse again practically falling to the floor. Your legs crumple under you and your palms hit the floor, scratching against the coarse motel carpet.

'Ada!' Leon dives towards you, dropping to his knees.

'Leon,' you gasp his name as you begin to tremble uncontrollably.

He gathers you up into his arms and you latch onto his shoulders, your nails digging mercilessly to his skin. He flinches but doesn't pull away. His hands rub your back as he rocks you against him till the shaking dies down and you're left shattered and sweating in his arm. Your head feels heavy and you can barely lift it from his shoulder to look him in the eye.

Leon gazes at you, wounded but resolute, '"No matter what happens between us, the end result will _always_ be the same." That's what you told me in Sicily. I'd always wondered what you'd really meant by that. From the tone of your voice it sounded like more than just Wesker and Umbrella keeping us apart. You meant _this_ didn't you? You meant that even if we began seeing each other, even if Wesker were to disappear, you'd still be gone. We'd still lose each other.'

Your eyes sting and your lips quiver as you tightly grip his shoulders in your hands, 'Yes. I didn't want you to…to have to know all this. It's not your burden.'

He leans forward, his warm forehead resting against yours, 'Ada…I…'

'No,' you pull away, 'Don't. Don't say anything you can't take back.'

'That your motto huh?' he asks.

'It's a request,' you murmur softly, 'I don't want to hurt you.'

'Then don't push me away again. There is nothing that hurts me more than when you push me away.'

You shudder, frustrated, angry, your soul torn and leaving your body piece by piece, blown away with every breath you take, 'I only pushed you away because I'm a danger to you. I'm tired Leon, I don't have the strength for…'

'Hey,' Leon tips your head up and your eyes meet his, 'Let me be your strength, if only for today. Whatever happens tomorrow just happens. But that's not for over twelve hours. Let me stay with you.'

Sighing softly, you dip your head to his chest and let his body cocoon yours as you sit huddled on the hard floor. His heat envelops you and you're flooded with sensations you'd half-hoped you'd forgotten. Painfully delicious affection and endless devotion had kept you afloat during the torture of the past few months though you'd barely even realised. And you now understand what you've implicitly known for years; that everything you know about unconditional love you'd learnt from the man in your arms.

Leon gently extracts his body from your hold and gathers you up, hooking your legs over his arms. You curl your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle his neck. He groans softly at the sensation and you smile at the intimately pleasing sound. He carries you into the bathroom, a cramped space filled with dated, angular utilities. Lowering you to your feet he turns around and wrenches the taps on the bathtub. The pipes jolt and moan before spewing their sizzling, steaming liquid into the long, yellow tub. Leon sits on the side of the bath, his hand testing the water, gliding along its surface leaving a trail of ripples. You tilt your head and watch him as he sits deep in thought, his brow wrinkling in deep concentration as if the bottom of the tub would expel some kind of miracle solution. The room fills with steam that settles in tiny beads of moisture along your skin.

Once the bath is full Leon pulls his hand away sharply and turns to you, his cheeks blushing under your affectionate scrutiny. He reaches for you, his hands closing around the belt of your robe. But he's staring at you with uncertainty, silently asking for permission. You step towards him, providing an answer. He pushes the robe from your shoulders and it collapses in a pile on the cold tiles. You guide his hands to your underwear and he follows, his skin barely touching yours for longer than a few seconds at a time. He bends forwards and presses his warm mouth to your shoulder, testing your pulse against his tongue. You quiver under his touch, the cold of the floor against the soles of your feet colliding with the blossoming heat of your body. Reaching for his waist, you tug the hem of his shirt upwards, your palms smoothing the hard lines of his chest as they journey upwards. With his aid you undress him, drinking in the sight that has haunted your mind for the past three months, flashing in front of your eyes before you wake, brighter than the first sight of the sunrise.

'Do they hurt?' he whispers, tracing the scarlet stains on your chest and stomach with his hands.

'A little,' you reply distantly.

He looks into your eyes before reaching up to caress your face and hair, his calloused fingers feel delightfully raw against your skin, 'You are so gorgeous. Have I ever told you that?'

'Yes, all the time,' you smile wickedly though you can barely believe that he still sees the old Ada anymore when he looks at you; you feel so different now.

'Good. Because you really are. So beautiful.'

He takes your hand and steadies you as you step into the bath, the warm water easing the raw discomfort of your reddened skin and rusty joints. You let out a deep, relaxing breath and look up at Leon to find his smiling fondly down at you.

'Room for one more?'

'If you insist,' you reply saucily sliding forwards as he squeezes in behind you, letting you lie against his body and draping his arms around your waist. The tension bleeds from your body as Leon presses his hot cheek to yours and lets his fingers massage your flesh. You reach up to fondle his hair as he drops sweet kisses onto your neck.

'Where will you be when you decide to stop taking your medication?' he asks with measured calm as he reaches for a small washcloth on the side of the bath. It fizzes when he plunges it into the water.

'The Organisation have a safe house that I can use. Only the head of the agency knows about my condition.'

You'd been guaranteed complete privacy and anonymity. You smirk as you remember making the request in the same tone that you usually used to book a hotel suite. Your deathbed was simply a formality, a loose end to tie up.

'I want to be there,' Leon whispers against your shoulder, his breath bathing your skin and almost distracting you from what he had asked.

You turn to look up at him, damp strands of hair plastered to your forehead, 'Leon?'

He pushes the hair from your eyes and gives you a shaky smile, 'When you…when it happens…when you die I want to be there.'

'Forgetting something?' you ask taking the cloth from his hands and lightly rubbing it along your arms, 'You have a job to do. The CIA won't be too happy with you helping me and intruding on a clandestine operation.'

'That's my problem. I'll deal with the agency when the time comes,' he sighs and pulls the cloth from your fingers, 'In Raccoon City I never had a chance to say goodbye to you. You just slipped from my hands and you were gone. I don't want to make the same mistake again, Ada. You shouldn't be alone when it happens. I'll be there. If you want me.'

You turn in his arms, the water lapping against the side of the tub. The sight of the tears in his eyes breaks you. What you're planning to do is set in stone, you've insured that and it's something you wouldn't ever want to change. It's your mission, your cause. But to see him like this fills you with a sorrow so deep that it slices you to the bone. You lift your body to straddle his hips and take his face in your trembling hands, 'I want you.'

_I need you._

He raises his head as you dive down to kiss him, his lips yielding under yours and his fingers thrusting into your hair. Your teeth graze his cheek as he moves to kiss your face, tasting the salt and sugar of your skin. His hands shape the length of your back and grasp your thighs pulling you closer to him. For immeasurable time you stay that way, locked into a tight embrace, touching and remembering each other till the water turns cold and you begin to shiver against him.

Without a word you lift your tired bodies from the tub. Leon finds some rough, clean towels and tightly wraps you up in one. You link your hand with his and pull him back into the bedroom. Moving to stand at the foot of the bed you reach up to kiss his lips, your fingers pressing gently into his arms. The motel room is much darker now, dusk has fallen and the garish lights of the motel sign outside your window have begun to blink in shades of red and blue.

Leon frames your face in his hands and gazes searchingly into your face; he's studying you, crafting you with his eyes. He's making a memory.

'I can't believe I'm going to lose you again.'

You close your eyes and smile sadly, 'I'm not going anywhere right now.'

Slipping the towel from your body you lean out of his arms and edge backwards to lie on the bed. Leon watches your movements, his body flushed with the familiar desire that had painted your previous encounters with bright and vibrant strokes of passion. He kneels on the bed next to you and bends forwards to shape your legs with has hands, his eyes never breaking their hold over your gaze. He'd always had a fascination with your legs. Now _that_ you can remember. Long nights, silent communication with busy hands and lips grazing tentatively over your thighs. You tremble at the memories he's revealing to you with his fingers as they trace your ankles. He doesn't want you to forget him, what you had, what you can still have. He's asking you to steal back just a little more time.

Leon bows forwards and sinks his teeth into your hip; you grasp the pillow above your head with both hands and shudder, groaning his name. He traces his tongue against the crimson bite marks he's left on your skin before climbing up towards your navel inch by painstaking inch. Growling in frustration you grasp his shoulders and pull him up to face you. He's smirking down at you as he braces a hand either side of your head. You press your lips against that smile, swallowing an aching gasp at the feelings of completion and belonging that meet you in his arms. You've missed this so much and you can't form the words to say so. But you can _show_ him tonight and for the hours that follow, grasping his body in your hands and almost drowning him with your affection. When you're with him your body is no longer a timepiece that is winding down slowly, taunting you with its endless ticking, reminding you of the future as it descends with relentless speed. With him your body and your soul meet, blurring around the edges, bleeding together and timeless, frozen but splintering into pieces, only to reform again and again, brighter and greater than before. And when it's over and you're perfectly shattered, he pulls you to him and breaks you into pieces once more.

**November 17****th**** 2005, 3.36am: Riverside Motel, Las Vegas (all over again)**

It's early morning when you wake again, your body humming with tender aches and powerful satisfaction. Perhaps you should leave now, with the memory still intact and not tainted by the inevitable goodbye and the agony of loss that you'll both have to face two months from now. Maybe. It would be the wisest thing to do. But you don't move from that spot, in fact you even grasp the pillow tightly in your hand.

Your eyes part the darkness, like fingers slipping through fabric, and trace the lines of his jaw as he slumbers beside you. The neon lights blink through the blinds of the room flicking its gaudy shades of red and blue onto the grubby white sheets. Your hand slides closer to his face to catch the warmth of his life breath on your fingertips.

'Are you leaving?'

You feel a jolt tumble down your spine when he shatters the silence around you. His eyes are tightly lidded and you wonder for a moment if he is still fast asleep and if you have just imagined his voice. But the warm hand that cups your thigh beneath the sheets silences all thoughts completely.

'No,' you reply, and for once you truly mean it.

* * *

_So we've come full circle and ended up where the story begun- in the Las Vegas motel room. Umm... hopefully the mini prologues at the start of all the previous chapters make sense now and you're able to put them into context. It took me a while to come up with this plot structure and I was worried that it'd be too complex, but I do love to experiment :-)_

_I also deliberated over Ada's fate for a long while and I decided that her condition links well with the theme of time. Nevertheless, I love these characters so much and I'm determined to give them an ending that's worthy of them. And this story sure isn't over yet! There are two chapters and an epilogue left to go. I'll upload the next chapter by Friday or Monday at the latest._

_**And one last thing:**__ To all those that have read my story 'Hope'- would any of you be interested in a sequel? I had originally intended to leave the story as a stand alone piece. However, I've had an idea that could work well as a companion piece using Leon as the central character. From the look of things it'd be longer than Hope but shorter than Timeless. So, if anyone's interest in reading it, I could make that my next project after finishing Timeless. :-)_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Time's Up- Part One **

_Author's note: Wow. I have the best reviewers ever! You guys are sensational._

_And I'm glad you like the idea of a sequel to 'Hope'. I'll get started on it as soon as I can. I've already planned it out so it shouldn't take too long to get down ;-)_

* * *

**November 17****th**** 2005, 10.12am: Outside Wesker's Nevada Facility**

There were three things that you remembered about this stretch of red desert. The heat, the silence and the smell. It's the heavy scent of baked clay and rusting iron, thick with the taste of dust that inevitably finds its way into the back of your throat each time you breathe in. The ground is scarred by a network of cracks and ditches, withered by the endless cycle of night and day and the vibrantly relentless pulse of the sun. You glance down at the floor as you jump from Leon's jeep. It's like staring into the wizened face of time itself. Sharp, desiccated shrubs with brown, spindly claws sit scattered around the landscape in clumps. A deserted red pickup truck lies abandoned a few yards away, its engine stripped, paint faded and doors missing. Broken and gleaming green-glass bottles litter the vehicle's resting place. Large, shrill birds glide high above you, their wings seemingly brushing against the sun and casting black shadows onto the ground. There is not a ripple in the clear, blue sky. This place had always fascinated you. It was the perfect location for Umbrella to operate. Life and death seemed to melt into one another here, walking hand in hand through the dust. Existence was suspended on the slender thread between this world and the next. You shiver a little and run your sweaty palms through your hair.

'The base should be about a mile that way,' you nod towards the horizon.

Wesker's Nevada facility is already a hazy silver dot on the landscape. In your mind's eye you reconstruct everything you can recall about that base. It's located by a river and a mighty waterfall that tumbles over jagged rocks. "S Corp" had built the facility under the guise of a hydroelectric plant and boasted of their commitment to a safe and clean environment. Endorsed by politicians and the state governor, the site was wide, sprawling and constantly spreading across the landscape like a plague. 'An award winning legacy for the future,' S Corp had called it. And that wasn't a complete lie. They had just neglected to inform the world of the exact kind of future that they were building. The facility was several miles wide and held an entire library of information, vaccine cultures and brilliantly advanced machinery. It was the technical heart of Wesker's new Umbrella Inc.

You blink and shield your eyes from the immaculate blue sky; tiny pin pricks of light dance behind your closed eyelids. You roll your shoulders and reach one hand behind you rubbing the tenderly aching muscles that sit nestled between your shoulder blades. You'd been in that car for hours though it seemed even longer. In the past you had been able to sit completely still inside one metre squared shipping crates for 24 hours at a time. But now your body was a lot less pliable. Muscles hummed with constant aches, your joints locked stubbornly into place. Your body wouldn't let you keep still anymore. She compelled you to move, _begged_ you to move as though a part of your soul was fleeing from ghosts and demons that you couldn't see and were half sure didn't exist.

_You've been out in this heat too long Ada. Enough. No more thinking like that._

You open your eyes, blinking wildly to find Leon standing barely a metre from you and staring at your face. He's wearing a tight, grey t-shirt, black, fingerless gloves and his hair is glowing almost golden in the intense sunlight. His face is cast with an artificially immaculate calm but his eyes give him away. Wide, dusky blue and brooding. He parts his lips to speak but you wave your hand at him and shake your head.

'Don't even think of asking,' you reach for your equipment bag, 'I'm fine.'

Leon shrugs and glances away, 'What makes you think I was going ask that?'

Your lips twitch into a tiny, fragile smile as you toss him a small electronic device, 'Here, put this on. It's an earpiece in case we get separated.'

'And is that likely?' he asks as he slips the earpiece on.

You sigh and rifle through the bag, pulling out your weapons. They're brand new, heavy, stainless and stiff as though not yet oiled by blood or broken in by screams.

Turning your slim, silver handgun over in your palm, you reply carefully, 'I just want to be sure. It's been many months since I've been here and Wesker may have made changes or beefed up security due to Max being on the rampage.'

'When do you plan on contacting The Organisation?'

'When I've confirmed that Max is really in there with the device. The Organisation is too weary of using overt military force except when absolutely necessary, but they are ready to deploy whenever they get the order. If we get the proof that we need then we can send for backup. We've had so many near misses over the past few weeks. I want to be sure this time.'

'And Max? Does she know about you? About your illness?' he asks cautiously, his eyes trained on you.

'Yes,' you reply slipping your grapple gun into its holster, 'She's known since the start. She's one of Wesker's high ranking biochemists. But she doesn't know what my plans are or that I work for the government. Don't worry. I can handle her,' you grimace remembering a similar declaration you'd made to Shaw right before Max had almost succeeded in killing you. But you give your head the lightest of shakes, your hair kissing tenderly along the nape of your neck reminding you that you are alive and that Max had failed.

Leon gives a distracted nod and you both begin the trek towards the facility in a tense silence. Every now and then you spare a glimpse towards him and find him deep in thought, his eyes scanning the horizon for movement. You want to reach a hand inside him and pull him out of those thoughts, rip him from despair once and for all. It unnerves you, irritates you, his look of pale melancholy, icy desolation and electric anticipation that charges through his veins and reminds him of you, of loss and of inevitability. But you know that those thoughts, however much they ache, are born out of his love for you. Perhaps in the end that will cushion the blow or perhaps it will just end up doubling the agony. Sand crunches under your boots as you hike up the incline that overlooks the entire complex. Once you both reach a good surveillance point you duck down behind a cluster of dried tree stumps. You reach for your binoculars and peer down at the building below. The main facility is made up of several warehouses and offices surrounded by half a dozen guard towers, four thick, metal gates and a tall electric fence. In the distance you can hear the soft, foamy rush of the waterfall and make out the giant complex of waterwheels, some several metres in diameter, which spin under the weight of the crystal white water and generated a healthy power supply for the entire facility and many of the surrounding towns. The area was quiet however. There were trucks laden with supplies lying derelict in the courtyards, but no bustle of engineers and guards swarmed around them, the watchtowers were seemingly empty but there were no signs of a battle.

'You do know that CIA safe houses suck, right?' Leon mutters, his eyes trained on the facility below.

You look up sharply and stare at him, 'What?'

'CIA safe houses,' he replies, not returning your look of weary confusion, 'They're notoriously bad. I've stayed in about twenty this year alone. They're damp, the furniture is cheap and uncomfortable and there's no cable TV.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

He hesitates and turns to you, an anxious smile on his lips, 'When this is all over...you should spend the next few months staying somewhere nice and peaceful. You deserve that. My cousin is a pretty successful lawyer in Detroit. He has a cabin in the mountains that he spent a fortune on but never uses. It's secluded, very comfortable, has all the modern conveniences you could ever need, and a dozen you probably won't. And it's by this beautiful lake that practically glows when the sun rises. If you like I could borrow it and we could stay there. My cousin owes me several favours and he won't ask any questions.'

You grip the binoculars tightly and inhale a sharply sudden gasp of the dusty air. When you'd found out about your illness, things had naturally shattered into tiny pieces. Pieces that you'd swept under the carpet and trodden over, ignoring the chaos beneath your feet. You weren't afraid of death. It's everything that goes before it, the emptiness and the waiting, that makes you feel ill. But now the future unravels before you, the beast crumbling into dust only to suddenly stitch itself back up again into something that didn't frighten you so much anymore. It's like finding out that the monster under your bed is just a pile of rags.

'Leon, I...'

'You don't have to answer now. I'm just throwing the suggestion out there.'

You hesitate, but only for a moment. Leaning towards him you press your lips to his mouth, gently caressing his bottom lip with your tongue. Leon reaches a hand behind your head and tenderly runs his fingers through your hair. He deepens the kiss, opening his mouth under yours and gives a deep groan that tumbles along your body making your toes curl.

'So, is that a yes?' he asks huskily.

Smiling broadly, you brush your nose against his, 'As long as you're with me I don't mind at all.'

Leon grins with relief and ducks his head down to press his hot, damp forehead against your temple, 'Alright. Let's get this show on the road. What's going on down there?'

You pass him the binoculars, 'Nothing. That's the problem. Over the past few years Wesker has increased security around the power-plant, telling the government that it was protection against terrorist threats.'

Leon smirks and holds the binoculars to his eyes, 'Wesker complaining about terrorists? How ironic.'

'There is an automated defence system, an electric fence and six guard towers,' you continue, 'But everything appears to be empty and silent.'

'Max?'

'Probably. She knows all of Wesker's defence protocols and how to bypass practically any computer system. But if she and Bianchi had caught Wesker's men by surprise then there'd be signs of a battle.'

'It could be a trap.'

You glare towards the barren facility, 'I'm sure it is. Max is waiting for me down there.'

He frowns and slowly begins to rise, 'Then let's not keep the bitch waiting. Ready?'

'Always,' you stand up adjusting your long, midnight black dress around your body.

In minutes you've reached the edge of the electric fence, no sirens or alarms have sounded. The place is as dead as the desert that surrounds it. Nevertheless, the gates are barred shut and the electronic locks are sealed. This was the fail safe. There was no override here. If there was an emergency then the doors would remain closed. Not to keep others out necessarily, but to keep everything else in. There were bio-weapons inside that had to remain contained. The external security was down too. So were the machinegun turrets. Max must have disconnected the power supply to the security system, including the main generators.

You bend down, grab a large rock from the dirt and hurl it at the electric fence. The small boulder explodes on contact, fizzing and spitting sparks before falling to the floor in three small, blackened pieces.

_Hmm. Well we know at least one thing still works._

'Suggestions?' Leon asks folding his arms over his chest.

You wander over to the nearest guard tower and stare upwards. It's vacant like all the others and no higher than forty, perhaps fifty feet. Unhooking the grapple gun from your waist you take aim and fire. The hook latches onto the edge of the tower with a snap. Smiling softly with satisfaction, you turn to Leon and tilt your head to the side inquisitively.

He raises his eyebrow at you sceptically, 'You sure that thing can hold us both?'

'Positive,' you breathe airily and hold out your hand, 'It's perfectly safe Agent Kennedy. Nothing to be worried about.'

He laughs sharply and walks to your side. Slowly, he wraps his arm around you, his warm hand pressing against the bare skin of your back. His other hand curls firmly around the grapple gun, lacing his fingers with yours. Pressing a fleeting butterfly kiss to his cheek, you squeeze the trigger and the rope retracts swiftly hoisting you both upwards. As you reach the top Leon lets go of your waist and you both spin headfirst through the air before landing on top of the tower in a low crouch.

Leon turns to you, his eyebrows raised, 'Nice landing.'

You're about to reply when something below catches your eye, 'Leon! Look.'

Peering down at the courtyard of the facility you spot a glimpse of a brown and yellow uniform stuffed behind one of the storage bins by the edge of the main entrance. Climbing down the tower's ladder you both run to the building. On the floor lies a man in a brown uniform, his legs are tucked under his body and his eyes are open but gazing blankly at the sky. His neck is burned an angry red by the sun and still lukewarm against your hand. He hasn't been dead for more than a few hours judging by the dried, flaky splashes of blood on the floor beside him.

'This is one of Wesker's men,' you reach down and grab the man's handgun, emptying the rounds and slipping them into your side-pack.

_Waste not, want not._

'There are others,' Leon points towards other end of the building where another two men in sky-blue overalls lay dead by the doors, 'What are they doing out here?'

'I don't know. They don't seem to be part of Wesker's crew.'

Leon walks over and inspects the bodies, 'They're carrying semi-automatics. The guns look pieced together as though someone wanted to upgrade them but didn't have access to new parts.'

He leans over and lifts the right arm of one of the men. The unknown, unmoving figure has slicked back hair, blond with brown roots and a gold chain around his neck. On the wrist of the corpse are several black etchings. You slowly approach and take a closer look.

'It's a tattoo of a snake around his wrist,' Leon glances up at you, 'I recognise it. It's the insignia of "El Serpente" These are Bianchi's men.'

Reams of information from Costa's dossier cycle through your mind at the sound of that name. Bianchi had taken control of several Sicilian gangs when he had risen to chairman at Costa. El Serpente had been one of the first he'd commandeered.

'At least we know that Max is here,' you reply and lean over the bodies to test the handle of the nearby door, 'It's open. Shall we?'

Leon stands and reaches for his gun. You in turn grip your weapon tightly and give the door a gentle shove. Together you enter, training your guns at the dark corners of the large, central office of the facility. You had been twenty-two when you'd seen this place for the first time. The crisp blue walls, steely computer terminals and freshly waxed floors. So sinister but mundane, darkly conventional, a shallow smoke screen that only the keenest eyes could penetrate. Now however, the room is empty of almost everything that had so carefully concealed the chambers within. No people, no chairs, no tables. The only items left are machinery attached to the walls such as cool strips of fluorescent lights, air-conditioning systems and wall-mounted computers, their monitors dead. A few errant scraps of ripped paper are scattered on the floor and flutter from the stale and steady breath of the air vents.

'Is it usually like this?' Leon asks.

'No,' you reply distantly, 'This is...or _was_ one of Wesker's most active facilities. They have few bio-weapons. Most are early test specimens for the viruses made here. But the main priority is to manufacture machinery for S Corp.'

'Hey, I've got something,' he snatches a white piece of paper from the floor and scans it eagerly, 'It's an evacuation order.'

'Was there an outbreak?'

'No. It's for all S Corp equipment, scientists and virus samples. It seems Wesker was moving them elsewhere.'

'That must explain the skeleton crew,' you muse distantly, 'Wesker's moved most of the important personnel to another base. Why would he do that?'

'There's an order to move the new virus synthesis prototype out of the facility today,' Leon continues, 'It was to be moved along with the few remaining scientists. The hydroelectric plant was supposed to be maintained by a restricted number of guards.'

'But why move it last? This doesn't make sense,' you shake your head.

'You're right. It's careless. It's inefficient. Not at all like Wesker. Unless...'

'Unless it's a trap,' you turn to face him, 'He knows what Max wants and he's offering it to her. He's luring her here.'

He narrows his eyes, 'Would she fall for that?'

'Maybe. If she was desperate enough; which she is. This is her only chance to get the device before it's placed under tougher security. Even if she knows that the device is simply bait in a very large trap, she wouldn't hesitate to keep going. She'd just consider it all a challenge, a game.'

'And where do we go from here?'

'We need to confirm that Max and the device are still here. And I want to make a play for that disk she has on her. It's what I came here for,' you reply calmly, 'As for the device, if we can't secure it we'll just have to blow it apart.'

'Ada, are you sure about this? Do you know what Wesker could have left in there?' Leon asks, his voice husky with anticipation, 'I'm ready if you are, but don't take any unnecessary risks okay?'

You close your eyes and smile, 'I promise. But what's in there could help us end Wesker once and for all. All risks may end up being necessary.'

He looks away grimly and points to the next door, 'Alright. Let's go.'

The next corridors are also deserted, rugs stripped from floors leaving chipped wooden boards that bend under your foot, screeching from the weight of your steps. Desks and chairs are in neat piles along the wall and covered in clear plastic ready to be moved. The lights are low and shining a deep red colour indicating that the emergency power is on. There are more bodies littered along the floors, a random kaleidoscope of colour. Blue jumpsuits, yellow uniforms and scarlet blood. It seems as though Wesker's remaining men were caught by surprise as there were twice as many of their corpses as there were of Bianchi's thugs. Eventually you reach one of the main control rooms and are able to pass onwards to the main lab. The walls have been stripped of their plaster in places by machinegun fire, spent bullet casings are scattered along the tiled floors like confetti. Most of the machinery has been removed except for vital systems linked to the plant's security. Silently you both push on ahead, a sense of apprehension enveloping you like a thick, freezing mist making you shiver beneath your skin.

Finally you reach a huge circular room with silvery grey walls and three hallways leading off it on the ground floor behind electronically sealed doors. The room has three additional levels above the ground floor and around the edges of each storey spiral metal platforms around four metres wide linked by a network of ladders and steel girders. It's like a metallic beehive. There is also a blue glass elevator at the edge of the room. On each of the three levels there are a further two electronic doors leading off into different sections of the facility. This was the central hub where all of the different departments of the plant met. The ceiling of the room was so high that it seemed to stretch on forever, its upper limits stolen by shadows.

'Our first stop should be the main surveillance room. It will allow us to access the security cameras and patch into the communications system,' you say as you point upwards to the top floor of the structure, 'The second door on the top level leads straight there.'

'Right,' Leon replies as he arches his head upwards, taking in the endless scope of the hub, 'The elevator doesn't seem to be working so we'll have to...'

Suddenly the entrance to room gives a loud, mechanical screech, its silver panels clamping shut behind you. A small light above the door glows red for a moment before emitting a sharp beep. You were sealed in.

'What the...?' Leon raises his handgun and backs up towards you, shielding your body from any incoming assailant.

You glare upwards at the grey platforms and listen keenly picking your way through the silence, 'That shouldn't have happened. Maybe the room's going into lock down...'

Before you can finish, a rush of static gushes from the hidden speakers above you.

'I was wondering when you were going to turn up. You're late Ada. And it seems as though you've brought a friend without informing me first. I'm a little put out to tell you the truth,' a thick, velvety Russian voice purrs over the intercom.

Your teeth clench tightly and a shiver of revulsion makes your breath emerge in erratic bursts from between your lips.

'Hello Max,' you call out, schooling your features from irritation and distain to an indifferent smile, 'Is this your idea of a welcome? I can't say that I'm impressed.'

Max clicks her tongue and lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh, 'I'm terrible host. You're quite right. And after you've turned up looking so lovely too. The black is rather appropriate considering what you've got to look forward to in here'

Leon shoots you a look and nods up at the security cameras that were dotted around the room.

'And you Max?' you ask, 'Did you find what you're looking for?'

'Wouldn't you like to know. It's a shame really, how much your treachery has cost you. You could be here right now in the lab with me making the future instead of ending your own. Perhaps I can make it up to you with a gift,' Max continues with an intimate whisper, 'And just think. You could provide us all in here with a little entertainment. Wesker's guards were far too boring.'

'I'm too old for games Max.'

'Just like you to arrogantly assume that you can negotiate when your back is up against the wall. You don't have a choice,' she spits fiercely.

There was no way you were going to give her the satisfaction. Without a reply you point your gun towards the first security camera you see and fire. The hunk of metal and wire falls with a crash to the floor. Leon fires at the next and you take out the third.

'You always were a bad sport Ada,' Max's acidic laughter rings through the intercom, 'But no matter.'

Moments later a loud boom echoes around the hall and the ground shivers under your feet. You can hear gears turning behind the thick walls, the metal crunching together and dragging the long chains that controlled the vast room. The two adjacent electronic doors that led out of the ground floor begin to slide open inch by inch, a sigh of air escaping from under them. Pounding footsteps are followed by sonorous sniffs and growls, a gasp of rotten air blasts through the black and yawning holes that the sliding doors are revealing to you. You back towards each other, your weapons raised and your breaths hitched tight.

Two hulking figures emerge, one from each of the doorways. They're seven feet tall, backs curved like bridges ending with tiny mammalian heads atop squat necks. Coated in matted, grimy, grey fur, their bodies were made up of chunky lumps of muscle that swell through their thin skin, splitting it in intervals like wet tissue paper. Dull, milky-white eyes flicker behind purple eyelids assessing you with keen intelligence and barely restrained hunger, their cracked, lipless mouths are smacking together lustily. Thick, broken snorts of air gush from their flat noses. Their arms are as thick as tree trunks and their twitching fingers are adorned with curled, white claws that drag heavily across the floor as they creep towards you.

_They're Eliminators. Fantastic. _

You'd always loathed these things. A surprise 'training exercise' Wesker had sprung on you in Columbia involving several of these things three years ago had made certain of that. They were one of James Marcus' first successful T Virus specimens. They were bred by altering the genetic structure of ape embryos with the progenitor virus creating a large primate bio-weapon. Vicious, strong enough to dent steel and fiercely intelligent. The enduring legacy of a dead madman. Whether these creatures were Wesker's surprise trap for Max or not eluded you for now. But that wasn't important. Survive first. Think later.

Your heels snap sharply along the hard floor as you begin to pace away from Leon. He stares back at you questioningly but soon understands. Divide them, split their focus, half their power. He begins to slowly circle away from the centre of the room, his handgun raised at eyelevel. One of the Eliminators leers at you and growls, his eyes shining and tracking you greedily. Though still bulky with chests as wide as limousine hoods, the creatures seemed smaller than those you'd seen before. The skin around their necks was loose and supple indicating that, while they were strong and healthy, they hadn't been fed in a while. It was standard procedure. Reduce the bio-weapons' food supply by half before you release them, not enough to inhibit their power but just enough to sweeten their lust for the kill. One of the creatures gives a coarse, uneven groan, unhooks its jaw showing its dripping rows of yellow teeth and let loose a sharp series of yelps. The other, who'd kept its beady and pale eyes on Leon, begins to follow the first's example, screeching and thumping its fists onto the floor, leaving several deep craters in the concrete. Suddenly, in unison, the monsters leap towards you propelled by their powerful legs. One of them flies straight for you, the other towards Leon. Without hesitation you both open fire, dividing your efforts between each of the assailants. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Leon unhooking the shotgun from his back and hear him fire at the creature attacking him. The sound of your dual gunfire rumbles throughout the hall, thundering against its thick, concrete walls and making the sprawling circle of ladders and walkways shake. The paced bang of his shotgun and the choppy crackle of your automatic are like a bloody, violent duet. Lifting your handgun again you fire a steady stream of bullets towards the closer of the two primates. It's blown backwards almost a meter but within seconds it flips its body over and scrambles to its feet again, blood pouring from its shoulder and the fur blown from its upper arm. It hisses, the sour smell of its breath making you gag, and leans back on its haunches before thumping its chest with its bone-crushing hands. With a sharp scream it gallops towards you both, swinging its arms above its head. You dive backwards, your midnight black dress whipping against your bare legs. The creature lands barely a metre in front of you, hammering hard at the floor where you'd been standing. It turns and roars at you, pounding a dent into the ground once again and spitting furiously. Your eyes widen as you back away and take another shot at the Eliminator, blowing a hole in its leg and sending it to the ground in shrieking agony.

You hear a muffled grunt from across the room. Throwing a look towards Leon you find him backed against the dead, glass elevator, the Eliminator covered in blood but still advancing on him. He reaches back and grasps another shotgun shell but you know he doesn't have enough time; he's not going to make it. The core of your very being tells you so. You turn and dash towards him, mindful of the recovering monster lying behind you but not sparing it a glance.

'Leon! Get out of there,' you shout as you fire twice at the creature's back.

It turns and shrieks, bounding towards you, its feet barely touching the floor as it hurtles across it. Behind your back you hear a jagged snarl as the other primate recovers from your attack. You're sandwiched in as the creatures press forward, the smell of decay and blood surrounding you like a rotten cloud.

'Ada!' Leon calls out to you.

You see him reach for his belt and grab hold of a grenade. It takes only a quick glance at his face for you to work your way into his mind. Whipping your grapple gun from its holster you fire at the platform above you, waiting until the Eliminator's dirty claws are barely a metre from you before pulling the trigger. Your body slices through the air as you're dragged up and onwards, out of the reach of the monsters. You summersault into the air as the rope sharply retracts and you land on the second level of the hallway, throwing yourself to the floor barely seconds before a bellowing explosion sends lumps of concrete, blood and bone from below. The steel catwalk sways perilously under you, its edges clanking sharply against the nearby wall before it falls still. You sigh with relief as the structure stays intact despite the mighty force of the detonation below. Your head is pounding from the force of the explosion, a soft ring like a dial tone is quivering between your ears. Breathing deeply, your chest shuddering as the air rips through your tender lungs, you hoist your body upwards and run to the edge of the platform. Your damp palms smack against the cold railings as you peer over, eyes stinging from the fog of soot and debris that floats upwards from the rotten, smouldering corpses of the Eliminators.

'Are you alright?' you call downwards, your voice echoing and hollow as it recoils around the walls and platforms above you, 'Leon. Answer me!'

'I'm okay.'

You feel a soft release throughout your body at the sound of his voice, his words are like a dozen, silky kisses to your lips.

'Nice work. But you lose points for lack of subtlety,' you reply lightly, 'Our objective isn't to destroy the place you know.'

The smoke below parts, becoming thinner around the edges before softly drifting away and revealing Leon standing several metres below you with a feigned look of annoyance.

'What are you implying?' he asks.

'That you have...' you pause and pretend to struggle with a polite way to phrase your next words, 'a _habit _of leaving a smoking ruin behind you at the end of most of your missions.'

Leon laughs huskily, 'You do realise that over half of those instances are your fault right?'

You smile furtively and gaze down at him through a curtain of soft, blonde hair. A fresh, crisp sense of satisfaction breaths over your skin as you revel in the moment, dipping your toes into the cool and calming sense of contentment with him, feeling as though the next two months are really light-years away.

'I just know how to make a fancy exit Agent Kennedy,' you purr and glare through the thick, sooty air at the opposite end of the platform.

There's a thick, steel ladder that can be lowered to the ground floor. You open your mouth to call Leon's attention to it but an abrupt snap draws your attention to the door several metres away from you. The steel lips of the doorway part with a low, mechanical hum and you can make out a distant sneer followed by a booming roar. Suddenly another Eliminator emerges from the second floor hatch, setting its eyes on you and drooling, its claws scrapping silver gashes against the floor.

_Damn it! More of these things? How many are there?_

You hear Leon call your name and you stare down to the bottom floor spotting two more of the creatures stomping through the ground floor doorways. Leon shoves another shell into his shotgun and stands ready to fire.

'Leon!' you cry, levelling your gun at the Eliminator on the platform in front of you, 'There's a ladder. Hold tight. I'll get to it.'

You don't wait for a reply, you just begin to fire. The creature bounds towards you, its dark and leathery face contorted into an outraged snarl as you blow holes into its thick, chunky body. At the end of its muscular arms are hands large enough to wrap around a human head and its swinging those lumps of flesh towards you now knocking chunks of dust and plaster from the walls to litter the platform below. Jumping six feet into the air, the Eliminator latches onto the bottom of the platform that lies parallel above you both and uses its brutal momentum to flinging its powerful body towards you. You lift your weapon high and shoot it twice in the eye before dodging backwards from its path. Your ankle twists under you as your thigh smacks violently on the sharp edge of the metal walkway making you gasp. The creature, now blind in one eye, flails wildly and lands with a bone shattering crunch on the platform, gripping its bloody head in its gargantuan palms. It gives a primal cry and collides against the railings. The thin metal bends and yields under its weight before snapping and sending the Eliminator tumbling to the floor.

You toss a fleeting look over the balcony to find the creature dead, its neck broken. Leon is still battling with the other two, one of which is limping heavily, blood flowing in rivets down its torso. Your black boots hammer the steel walkway as you sprint towards at the other end of the room. Your hands are shaking as you grip the ladder but you shrug off the lancing pain that is bulleting along your body right now, swatting the fear and the apprehension away. You give the ladder three sharp pushes, the solid structure growling as it begins to fall towards the ground floor.

'Leon!' you call over the din of gunfire but it's the thump of the ladder against the concrete floor that he hears first.

Leon ducks under the limbs of the injured Eliminator as it grasps fruitlessly at its final chance to have its prey before crumpling lifelessly to the floor. Leon grasps the ladder and begins to climb, but the final Eliminator is scrambling towards him. You provide a volley of rapid cover fire, but the creature clutches tightly on the end of the ladder and begins shaking it vigorously. You slam your gun into its holster and reach down over the railing grasping Leon's hand as he struggles to hold on. He finally hoists his body over the railing and you spot a light film of blood and sweat over his forehead. You flinch and instinctively lock your arms around his heaving chest, burying your face into his shoulder for a single second before pulling him towards the next ladder. The Eliminator below is spitting with rage and attempting to climb upwards. Its progress is slow due to the narrow beams of the ladder but as a true model of its deviant species it is hungry, vicious and, if the training exercises in Columbia had taught you anything, persistent.

'Go!' Leon shouts when you reach the ladder to the third level.

Your lips part to argue even as you start to drag your body up the metal frame, but you clamp your teeth down gently on your tongue and decide not to tempt another time guzzling argument with him now. But as he's following you up the ladder the doors on the third level glide open smoothly and five more Eliminators pound onto the metal platform. A low growl of frustration sighs between your lips as you fire four times at the nearest of the primates, the thrust of the gunshots send tremors through your arms. Your breath is coming in shallow gasps now, heavy exhaustion clamping hard on your shoulders making your legs quiver under you. Your nails slice into the handle of your gun, a clammy river of moisture licking its way down the skin on your back. The billowing echo of primitive cries and pounding metal is coming from all sides now and rising under you like floodwater. The next ladder is the same as the last but the floor you reach is your salvation. As two more Eliminators clamber onto the platform you're already at the access panel of the entrance to the surveillance room. But the door is clamped shut.

'It's locked!' you cry over the noise of primal wails and shotgun blasts.

Leon stands with his back to you firing furiously at the creatures that are scrambling over the metal railings, 'I'm running low on ammo!'

You smack the butt of your gun against the thin panel on the wall and rip it clean away before tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. The inside is a mess, ravaged by spite and vengeance, the inner main wire of the operation system has been hastily torn out either by Wesker's men or by Max. Without so much as a pause you reach down and pull a small collection of metal lock picks from a compartment inside your right boot. Though your lips betray no sign of a smile you find passing amusement in the fact that you always have an alternate use for these things beyond their initial design. The last time you had used one of these to actually pick a lock had been almost five years ago.

_Don't act so surprised Ada. You've been improvising all your life._

You tightly bind the loose wires to the thin, metal tool and snatch your fingers away sharply as the panel fizzes and sparks. The light above the doorway flickers erratically.

'Ada, hurry!' Leon barks urgently as another Eliminator is thrust away from you both by the force of a shotgun shell to the neck.

'I'm doing it! Just hang on another second.'

With a single thump on the door release button the entrance hatch beeps cheerily and begins to inch open sluggishly. You look back towards Leon and find two Eliminators barely metres away. You grab your handgun and slam another clip into it.

'Go! The door's opening,' you demand.

He hesitates but you simply glare at him hotly.

'Now!'

He holsters his shotgun and dives under the door. It's open two feet from the ground now and its inner gears are grunting in effort as they struggle to tug the door any higher. The moment Leon's feet disappear under the hatch you follow after him, the cries of the creatures you've left behind still making your head throb. You stumble as you climb to your feet, your damp palm instinctively clasping the wall beside you. A familiar acidic burst punches at your lungs and you grasp your throat with trembling fingers attempting to ease the thorny sting that lacerates the back of your mouth. One of the Eliminators begins to throw its heavy, meaty limbs on the other side of the half-closed door sniffing eagerly at the gap but howling as it finds it too narrow to get through. You flinch away from the door and turn to the other end of the hall. The hallway is narrow, painted a shocking aquamarine colour and its ceiling is several meters high, crosshatched by grates and vent shafts. Leon is at the other end of the hall eagerly tugging at the switch beside the next doorway. The hatch glides open almost instantly and he turns to you.

'Ada,' he shouts over the howling din of the Eliminators outside, 'It's clear. Come on.'

You nod, blinking hard for a few moments to bat away the spots of light that dance around your vision. A sharp, swift shriek tears through the air behind you and you spin around to look at the entrance hatchway. One of the creatures has hooked its sizeable, leathery fingers under the edge of the door and is wrenching it upwards with the blunt, mighty force of its strength. The gears that operate the door are squealing and buckling in protest. You're impressed at the creature's intelligence but you still breathe out a soft curse and back away from the entrance. Suddenly you hear a second large crash that seems to originate from directly over your head through the large vent shafts that snake throughout the facility.

_Oh no, not again._

'Security breeched in Sector Four B,' a high pitched and demanding voice snaps over the base's communications system, 'Initiating security protocol five alpha seven.'

Before the system gets a chance to repeat its message the walls begin to shudder and a thick, metal and glass shutter crashes down from the ceiling between you and Leon. You gasp and push off from your back leg launching yourself towards the closing door but it snaps shut before you're within touching distance. You hammer the front of the shutter with your palms but it stands proud and remorseless before you. Within seconds you've processed the situation, expertly pushing past an initial, paralysing web of panic. You're trapped behind a bulletproof door, there are at least five Eliminators driving their way into the corridor behind you, you're running low on ammo and your body is being swamped under relentless waves of pain from your illness. Funny, but you're sure you've been through worse than this and survived. Looking up through the small glass window at the top of the shutter you see Leon on the other side of the glass. He points urgently to his ear and you remember the miniature, semi-transparent earpieces you're both wearing. You reach up to switch yours on.

'Ada! Hang on. I'll work out a way to open it,' he reassures you, his voice is steady and his exquisite eyes wide and unwavering before yours.

'Leon,' you reply over the burst of static that intrudes over your signal, 'It's bulletproof and I don't have much time.'

'Are you alright?' Leon asks anxiously, 'You're shaking.'

Without a word you press your trembling hand to the three inch thick, reinforced glass and Leon repeats the gesture on the other side. You're not sure who you're trying to comfort, him or you. Nevertheless your hand warms against the glass and the quivering begins to gradually subside as if your body is able to sense his closeness. Gazing upwards you see that the vent shaft above you has a small hatch. It's narrow but it's better than nothing. One of the Eliminators growls under the widening gap at the bottom of the doorway, its fetid breath hanging like a rotting phantom in the air. You snatch your hand away from the glass and reach around to grab your grapple gun. You fire and make a direct hit on the vent cover, yanking down hard to snatch it from its moorings. Before it even hits the floor you've braced one foot against the wall and are kicking upwards. The door behind you crashes and the Eliminators begin to brutally shove and claw past each other as they clamber into the hallway towards you. Leon's brisk and shallow breaths over the earpiece mirror yours as you throw your body upwards and into the hatch. It feels as though your heart is hammering your throat closed as you crawl on your hands and knees towards the far end of the vent. The system veers a sharp left away from both the hallway and the surveillance room but you have no choice. If you could reach the vent then so could the Eliminators. The last thing you need is for them to rip the vent from the ceiling and pull you back down there. You needed to put a good distance between you and them despite the fact that this took you far from your intended destination and from Leon. As the resounding screams of the Eliminators fade into distant cries you hear Leon's voice over the earpiece. The reception is choppy but you can understand him.

'Ada! Are you alright?' he calls.

'Yes,' you swallow twice to control your breathing as you blink through the blanketing darkness of the vent shaft, 'I'm fine. Relatively speaking.'

As he speaks you can picture his disarming smile in your mind's eye, 'Where are you? I'm in the surveillance room and the door's holding. Those creatures won't get in here. I'm secure for now but the surveillance system is down. I could use a hand to repair it.'

'There's no large vent shaft into that part of the facility for securities sake. They were removed when that part of the building was converted into a scientific facility. It'll take me a while before I can work my way around to meet you.'

Leon sighs, 'It's okay. I can handle it but it may take a while without a second pair of hands. How're you holding up?'

'You've already asked me that.'

'Just double checking,' he pauses and continues tenderly, 'You don't have to hide it from me anymore. You know that I won't think you're weak if you just want to rest every now and then. I'm here to help you.'

'I know Leon,' you reply, 'But I can't make allowances for...this. I have a job to do. Listen. I'm a few hundred yards from the main laboratory where Max should be.'

'You want to go after her now?' Leon cries incredulously.

'Yes.'

'Damn it Ada!' he growls, 'We shouldn't split up.'

'We're _already_ separated Leon,' you point out sharply, 'I won't engage Max or Bianchi's men. I'll just watch them for now. I'm determined but I'm not desperate. Besides, I need you to contact The Organisation and tell them to send their unit here. They should reach here in little over an hour as long as I can distract Max. Contact the main secure line of the CIA and quote the code name "Chronos". Identify yourself as "Agent 679501A". You got that? Tell them that we have confirmation of Max and Bianchi's team.'

'Got it,' he replies, 'There's interference over our channel. This frequency is too small for Max to intercept so I don't think it's her. I'm guessing it's the distance and the layers of reinforced metal between us that's causing the problem.'

'There could also be a radio scrambler,' you add, 'Wesker had one installed in the Alaskan facility months ago and there may be one here too.'

'I'll keep an eye out for it,' Leon's voice is becoming choppier now, broken into thin slices that are flanked by static fuzz, 'Don't...don't do anything I wouldn't do okay?'

'I'm making no promises,' you murmur seductively.

The soft lilt of Leon's breathing is a companion you silently embrace as you crawl through the dark, feeling blindly along the edge of the metal shafts and mapping the route towards the laboratory from your distant, hazy memories. But within minutes the sounds begin to melt away and the earpiece falls silent.

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The next chapter will be up early next week. Thanks for sticking with me this long! 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Time's Up- Part Two **

_Author's note: Writing these next two chapters was difficult and arduous but it's done and I'm so happy...and tired. The next part of the story ended up being so long that I had to divide it into two chapters. I thought that it would be mean to only upload one of them so I've put up both. Just click on the next page to read the next part._

_Once again, thanks so much for the reviews and the encouragement :-)_

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**November 17****th**** 2005, 12.27pm: Somewhere inside Wesker's Nevada Facility**

You've stormed buildings with only two bullets in your gun. You've played Russian roulette with men's lives and poker with your own. You've chased your mortality, snapping at its heels, but then turned and spat in the face of death. You've played chess with your demons and hide and seek with your angels. You've toppled the mighty with nothing but a kiss. You had been wrong when you had told Max, in quite a calm and candid declaration, that you were too old for games. These are the games you'd play.

Even as a baby you had been a game piece. Your tiny form had been a prop your mother and father had used for their schemes. After all, who would suspect a pair of loving parents of being a team of con artists? When you were eleven you had walked into a store and stolen things you could have easily afforded. You'd risked your neck to cross lines and jump fences that held nothing on the other side besides a fleeting, wraithlike taste of self satisfaction. You'd enter the fights you could never win and shun those that you certainly could. All this to simply draw out your boundaries in your own blood. Your life was a death sport. A contest whose score card was marked with bullets, blood and broken hearts. Your playing field was the entire world but that still hadn't been large enough. But all games end eventually. Theirs had, yours will soon and part of you is relieved. It's fitting that your life ends when the game does, it's all you've ever really known and who knows how long you could have lasted without this infernal, everlasting competition guiding you? Perhaps there's a lesson in there somewhere. For the longest while this world was the only thing you would let yourself live for and the moment you had a glimmer of something else in the horizon you had taken a wrong turn and let the game swallow you whole.

You position yourself several metres away from them, your long, black dress helping you melt into the shadows. Your legs are tucked under you and your back is pressed firmly against the edge of the crate that shields your body from their view. They had been so distracted by their own duties that none of Max's two surviving mercenaries or Bianchi's two thugs had seen you slip smoothly from the vent shaft and slowly edge towards their position. Bianchi is dressed in a sickly olive green tactical suit with his oily hair curled and gleaming under the intense blue lights of the central laboratory. He's safely nestled between his two snarling guards, their guns poised and twitching subtly in the direction of Max's men who in turn are eyeing Bianchi's brutes with acidic revulsion. Trouble perhaps? It wasn't anything less than you had expected. Another variable among variables that you needed to adapt to or perhaps simply manipulate. Your fingers, quite of their own accord, caress the trigger of your weapon but you still them and send a silent promise that there will be time for that later.

The laboratory itself is a masterpiece of mechanical engineering. The space stretched on for several hundred metres and the ceiling and walls, rather than flat, smooth metal surfaces, are composed of the red and orange marbled rock of the caverns that surrounded the rushing, white waterfall outside the complex. This hall is built inside the largest of a network of caves, the rough face of the walls thrown into high relief by darkness and casting ghoulish shadows onto the floors. When S Corp had first tunnelled into the rock to extract minerals and building materials, they had located a network of underground and semi-subterranean caves with walls thicker than any of those in their other mega-constructions. With carefully placed charges of dynamite they blew this geological phenomenon to pieces, cutting off most of the tunnels and sealing off the main caverns to create their laboratories. Slender, towering canisters of liquid nitrogen, oxygen and other chemicals line the walls at the far end of the room beside a neat row of forklifts. Tall banks of computers, more powerful than anything outside of NASA, cover the back wall with metal and dots of red and green light. Most of the control panels are silent, their screens slumbering in the near darkness, but the largest computer bank sits whirring and spitting out data onto the huge, central plasma screen, thirty feet wide and twenty feet tall, that was the main source of light for the room.

Before this screen, rapt with an almost pious devotion as the scrawling data is projected onto her pale face, stands Max herself. She is dressed in a snug, black catsuit covered in silver zips and buttons. The outfit is zipped low on the front revealing a slice of her almost translucent white skin. Her long fingers tap out a steady rhythm onto her hips as she tosses her short, silvery hair from her wide, blue eyes. But beyond this she barely moves. Bianchi is shuffling loudly behind her clearing his throat or scowling at the back of her head, but, with a deeply trained patience, she makes him wait for her. Bianchi may have been head of Costa but he was no scientist. Despite his degree in natural sciences from one of Italy's lesser universities, through every vein in his body rushed the blood of a businessman. You're several metres away from them, tucked behind a pile of brown, wooden crates that smell of machine oil and cold steel. Nevertheless, you're curious. It's been years since you'd last been here and though outwardly the complex is as you had left it all those years ago, internally, beyond the smooth faces of the computer screens, things were so different. S Corp and Wesker were working on things here that you could barely comprehend and a long-lost part of you smouldered with jealousy. You loathed missing out. Whipping out your binoculars you take a closer look, your gaze immediately drawn to the gigantic screen and its powerful light almost blinds you. But soon you've seen what has enraptured Max so deeply. Wesker, despite not having a real Las Plagas sample or Venus virus, has created a formula for the successful integration of the three viruses into a super-weapon. It's not enough simply to mix the raw virus samples to make the Trinity virus. The exact amounts and conditions of the chemicals need to be ascertained first. It seems as though Wesker has done just that.

And for a second, perhaps even less than that, you were transported back in time. It was more than a flickering memory, because what is existence apart from sensation? It is nothing. Sensation is hurling you back to your time as a researcher for S Corp and for many other groups whose names you've never quite forgotten despite your best efforts. You have a master's degree in biochemistry and, before that ill-fated mission to Raccoon City, you had been halfway through your doctorate. Your enthusiasm for your work had been a driving force that outran even your skills as an assassin. You were nowhere near the level of Birkin or Wesker, but you had known enough to elevate you beyond the bland mass of scientists doing laboratorial grunt work in their pristine white coats. Jon had adored bouncing his ideas off you and had been charmed by your grasp of science even more than the sight of your body or your smile. There are moments, like these, that you almost miss those times; times when your problems were solved down the barrel of a microscope rather than down the barrel of a gun. You know that Max remembers that time too and, your mutual animosity notwithstanding, these memories, these shared experiences, bind you both together in a way few others could understand. But things had changed when you had met Leon and a force far greater than anything you had ever experienced had taken hold of your heart. And as Max stands pious before the screen, almost inhaling the jumbled numbers and letters of Wesker's formulae as if it were her only oxygen, you almost pity her because within seconds of reading the data on the screen you know that she knows. You know that Wesker's formula for the Trinity Virus is incomplete and therefore useless. The viral-synthesis machine won't work without it.

One of the silver doors in the eastern corner of the room slides open silently and you can hear a pair of heavy boots pounding the floor towards you. You duck down behind the crate peering discretely around its side. Another of Max's mercenaries has emerged from one of the adjoining laboratories. He's holding a heavy machine gun in one hand but he's not alone. Shuffling in front of him, flinching from the weapon aimed at their backs, were two of Wesker's scientists. You don't recognise the female but the male is Dr Michael Richter, Wesker's head biochemist and one of S Corp's highest ranking scientists. Expelled from a high profile German laboratory in the 1980s he was a scapegoat for a biochemical disaster that killed over twenty civilians in the rural town. He had fled to the states to avoid a prison sentence and made a deal with Umbrella: his mind in return for protection for his body and his freedom. You had met him only twice and neither instance had been particularly enjoyable. With an arrogance that could only be achieved through nearly thirty years at the highest peak of the scientific community, Richter had studiously ignored you during those two company dinners, pausing regularly during his meal to glance down your dress. On the second occasion you had 'accidently' tripped and tossed your drink into his face drenching his thick, black beard with red wine. He was in charge of bio-weapon development and one of Wesker's favourite 'artists' when it came to live experiments. He'd even been at the Arklay Mansion for a while. When Umbrella had folded, Richter had naturally uprooted himself again and pledged his empty soul to a new company- S Corp.

'Nice of you to join us,' Max mutters not tearing her eyes from the computer screen.

The guard gives the two scientists a sharp shove sending them to their knees just metres from where Max is standing.

Cursing her in rough rasps of German, Richter cradles his bleeding head and swollen eye in his hands. The other scientist, a petite blonde in her late thirties, is shaking violently, her arms folded across her chest. She is wearing a green badge indicating that she had a level four clearance code, just one level below that of Richter himself.

'What is he saying?' Bianchi roars, turning to Max.

'You don't want to know,' Max replies finally turning from the screen, 'As far as our efforts are concerned we require only one thing from Dr Richter- the code. What is the code to access the final part of the Trinity formula Michael?'

'So you can do what with it?' Richter asks with deathly calm, 'Release it throughout the world?'

'I have no intention of doing that. I want to give order to the world, not destroy it.'

'You mean hold it hostage?'

'Sometimes you have to tighten the leash if you want control and discipline. "Discipline, obedience, unity." Wasn't that Umbrella's motto after all? I thought you of all people would understand. Now tell me the code to access the machine.'

Richter sneers and glowers at her through his undamaged eye, 'Never did have a head for numbers did you Max? And you wonder why Wesker made you do so much grunt work rather than real science.'

One of Max's guards raises the butt of his riffle and brutally strikes Richter on the back of his skull. Richter grunts and crumples to the floor whilst the other scientist yelps in surprise, her eyes on the ground and averted from him.

'Enough,' Max yells, 'I need him conscious.'

'And what are you going to do Max? Huh?' Bianchi asks chewing on his fingernail, his Italian accent becoming thick with anxiety, 'Talk it out of him? Let me do this. I've lost almost all of my remaining men in this hell hole and I want to get out of here now!'

Max ignores him and paces towards Richter, 'Would you die for him Michael?' she asks softly, reaching down to lift his head upwards, 'Would you die for Wesker? Or would you rather live for me?'

'And trust you?' Richter replies spitefully, 'Why would I do that? Why would I hand over all of my work to you? My work is my life. I don't trust it in your filthy Russian hands.'

Max smiles, her pink lips curling upwards in delight, 'I was hoping you'd say that. You were always a tough sell Michael.'

Turning on her heel she crosses the room towards the viral-synthesis machine. Reaching inside she clasps hold of one of the test tubes between her finger and thumb. Her long fingernails, painted a midnight black, contrast sharply against the thick, white liquid inside the glass tube. You gasp softly, recognising the volatile combination of the Alpha and Beta Viruses from Kazakhstan. Max grasps an air-powered syringe gun from one the racks on the counter. The large, silver gun held several tubes of virus samples in the same way a gun held bullet cartridges. With a soft press on the trigger the viruses could be injected directly into the blood stream of a test subject. Far too expensive for most hospitals to afford, it was designed for its speed and efficiency. Max places the test tube of the virus into the gun along with several others and snaps the case shut.

'What are you doing?' Bianchi asks urgently and strides towards her, 'We have the machine. Why not just kill them and leave now?'

'Because without the formula the machine and these viruses are useless,' Max's tone is that of almost perfect composure but you've known her long enough to know that she's getting very angry, 'Michael is right. I don't have a head for numbers and it will take us far too long to solve the equation. In half that time Wesker will be able to build a new synthesis machine and he will be able to manufacture the Trinity Virus before we can even get started. Is that what you want Bianchi? To be a runner up again, just like you've been your entire life? You're pathetic. Leave if you wish. You know the way out of here.'

Bianchi's face seems to swell with rage as his cheeks are washed hot pink with embarrassment and weakness. He clenches his fists by his sides, his knuckles brushing against his holstered firearm. One of Max's guards lifts his machine gun in warning and Bianchi snarls. Sending Max a dark look, he steps back to join the ranks of his soldiers.

Max smirks and struts towards Richter, who has now struggled into a sitting position, 'Let's play a little game. There are nine cartridges in this gun arranged in a random order. Eight hold a harmless concoction of water and hormones, but one holds the raw combination of the viruses Alpha and Beta. Do you know what this can do to a living creature? You don't do you? I do. And while I used to think that I'd never want to see it again with my own eyes, your...courage has moved me. I've never even considered the possibility of using the viruses in their raw, unmodified forms. But inspiration is one part blood and two parts desperation.'

Lunging forwards Max pressed the barrel of the gun to Richter's neck and injects him with one of the cartridges. Richter flinches and his fellow scientist shudders, her lip quivering. Hunching his back, Richter groans and his palms fall to the floor. You watch with morbid fascination as the doctor sits deathly still, his body racked with barely swallowed sobs of terror. But there is no other reaction.

'Ah. You're lucky it seems,' Max laughs, 'Do you that think your assistant here will fare as well as you have?'

The woman in question attempts to struggle to her feet, but she is thrown to the floor once again by the guard behind her. Richter barely reacts to the display.

'Please!' she cries, 'Don't do this!'

'Why not?' Max laughs cruelly baring her sharp, white teeth, 'You've done this to so many others. Others who probably begged like you are now. Why are you so special?'

Her movements are fast and fluid as she presses the gun to the woman's neck and injects her. But once again there is no reaction beyond a fearful shriek. Max kneels beside Richter a second time and lifts the gun to his neck.

'Wait!' Richter yells, jerking his head away, 'Alright. Alright, I'll tell you the code to access the computer system.'

'What is the password?' Max asks.

Richter nods towards the main computer bank, 'Viscount 4567 Duke 987231 AW75639044.'

A burst of air rushes from between Bianchi's lips and he turns to Max eagerly, 'Thank the gods! Enter it and let's leave now!'

Rising to her feet, Max slowly closes her eyes, her pallid face glowing almost blue in the electric lights. Suddenly her eyes snap open and she turns to Richter, reaches around her waist to grasp her gun and fires a single bullet through his forehead. You flinch, your fingers grasping the side of the crate.

'Your chance of getting injected with this virus just rose from fifty to a hundred percent!' Max roars turning from Richter's dead body to his cowering assistant, 'I know that Wesker hides self-destruct codes within his system if anyone enters the wrong combination. Richter was prepared to die but I know that you are not. Now tell me the real code or we will continue our little game.'

The woman nods frantically as Max's guard drags her to her feet and propels her towards the computer terminal.

'Damn,' you mutter under your breath.

If things continue at this rate then Max will be gone before The Organisation can arrive. You feel your lungs begin to burn as if your heart is pumping lava rather than blood through your chest. You frown at the face of the indisputable fact you cannot escape from. You've one chance, one chance _only_, and you've come too far to fail now. You have little idea of what will happen but considering your eventual fate and what was at stake here, you are forced to concede that the risks are necessary.

_I'm sorry Leon._

You stand up and step past the crate, your hands held up at shoulder level. You've made three steps before you're seen. Max, Bianchi and their small army of thugs turn and raise their weapons at you. You stop in your tracks, your dark eyes locked onto Max. You know that she won't kill you straight away, though by the acidic flicker of her eyes you can tell that she's seriously considering doing so.

'Hold your fire!' Max shouts quickly before turning to you again, 'You always have to make things just that little bit more difficult for me don't you Ada?'

'Believe it or not,' you reply coldly, 'but it's not my mission to make your life any easier.'

'And what now?' she laughs as she directs one of her guards over to disarm you, 'Are you improvising?'

'You could say that,' you mutter grimly as the guard tears your guns from their holsters. He throws both your pistol and grapple gun to the far side of the room. The guard then pushes you forward bringing you to a halt beside Richter's body. A small river of blood has formed around the hole in the dead man's skull.

'You know, if I wasn't on the verge of a scientific breakthrough I might actually get excited about this,' she replies as the shaking scientist starts to enter the code into the computer, 'But as it is, I think I'll pass on the verbal fencing and just kill you myself.'

'The code is another fake,' you declare, slowly lowering your arms to your sides.

'It... it isn't!' the scientist screams indignantly, 'I swear it. Don't listen to her.'

'Do you honestly think Wesker would trust any of them with the real code? This was a trap Max. If you enter _anything _into that computer then this place will fall apart or worse.'

Remaining silent throughout the exchange, Bianchi begins to squirm, waves of nervous energy pouring from his stricken face.

'Come on Max. Think about,' you argue confidently, holding tightly onto a bluff that could quite easily turn out to be true, 'Wesker would sacrifice anything for revenge: his head scientist, his prototype, an entire laboratory and power plant. He's relying upon your pride and stubbornness, your inability to assess risks and quit while you're ahead.'

_Just believe me Max. Just give me a few more minutes._

Max frowns, her eyes searching your face as she marches towards you, '_My_ pride? You were the one with the audacity to screw an American agent for months, right under Wesker's nose.'

You roll your eyes, 'No one understands Wesker like you and I do. How far do you think you'll get if you go up against him alone?'

She laughs and shakes her head, 'And why would I want the help of a washed out agent who won't last the year?'

'I know the formula for the Trinity bio-weapon. The group that hired me worked it out months ago and they're planning to sell it to the highest bidder rather than use it themselves. I disagreed but they won't listen to me.'

'And what would you want in return for this information?' she asks with a sceptical sneer.

You take a deep, calming breath, 'Access to a laboratory. I believe that I can synthesis a cure for my...condition, but I need the facilities now. I'm not concerned with power, just with my own survival.'

Max ponders your request, her ice-blue gaze biting at the skin of your cheeks like frostbite. She smiles coolly and raises a hand to brush the hair form your forehead. Your fists curl at your sides and you resist the urge to pull away. Suddenly Max pulls back and strikes you hard across your face. The force sends you to your knees, agony hammering at your jaw and hatred searing your cheeks an angry red.

'I don't share. Not with anyone,' she hisses.

You glare up at her incredulously through the soft strands of hair that cover your eyes, 'Then why are you working with _him_?' you toss a glance towards Bianchi, 'People like us don't care who we step on to reach our goals, even if it means risking our own lives. We lie so often that it's natural. We know nothing else. The truth means nothing to us because we don't recognise it anymore. Can you honestly trust her?'

'Shut up!' Max scowls, 'Don't listen to her. She's trying to manipulate you.'

Bianchi takes a step forwards, his eyes riveted on you, 'Do you really know the formula for the Trinity Virus?'

'Alonzo, don't be a fool,' she warns him.

'If you access that computer system then you are making a huge mistake,' you promise, 'Wesker won't let anyone leave here alive if they attempt to take the formula.'

Swallowing hard, he runs both of his hands through his hair and takes a loud, shaking breath, 'Let's take the machine and leave. This is too dangerous, Max.'

Forcing a sour chuckle past her lips Max turns on him, 'You moron!'

'It is my money we are using!' Bianchi shouts, his pupils dilating and casting a shadow over his eyes, 'I have lost far too many of my men with this madness. You are nothing without my money and my facilities. How dare you order me around as if I were your slave?'

Both Max and Bianchi's guards press forward, their bodies crowding around their respective employers so subtly that only a well trained eye would spot their movements. His face twisted with rage, Bianchi is gesturing towards Max whilst she simply frowns at him with disgust. The tension is flooding the room making the air heavy and hot as if a storm were gathering above you, its clouds swelling and growing dark. The scientist at the controls hesitates but Max barks at her to continue.

'Ada?' a softly whispered voice breaths into your ear and you almost flinch with surprise, 'Ada, it's me. I've been able to shut down the dampening field that was blocking our earpieces. I can see you on the surveillance monitor now. If you can hear me, cough.'

_Leon?_

You discreetly clear your throat against the back of your hand.

Leon sighs with relief, 'Alright. I've sent a message to The Organisation and they should be here soon. But there's something on the monitor coming towards your location and I have no idea what it is. It's big and it's moving fast so you need to find a way out of there now.'

_And how am I supposed to do that?_

Clearing your throat again, you climb to your knees, 'This is wasting time.'

'You are in no position to complain Ada,' Max replies walking away from Bianchi and shoving the quiet scientist from the monitor, 'I'm sick of working with amateurs.'

Max stabs the control panel with her thin fingers activating the main computer system. Instantly a roll of numbers flickers to life on the screen and Max gasps with delight, 'Of course. Perfect.'

'Is that it?' Bianchi asks hesitantly glancing at the screen, 'Is that the formula?'

'Yes,' she snaps with barely concealed irritation, 'The code was correct.'

You sigh softly, pressing your eyelids shut for a moment to gather your thoughts. This wasn't going according to plan and now that Max knew the formula you had no choice but to kill her. Arresting her would be too great a risk even by your standards.

'Nice try Ada,' Max smiles devilishly, 'It means so much to me that you put a lot of effort into interfering with my plans and...

Before Max can finish, a loud crash rocks the far side of the laboratory making the ground quiver. The walls tremble and a fine layer of red dust falls from the cave ceiling above you. The sound is followed by another smash and a low, rumbling growl.

_Damn it._

'What the hell is that?' Bianchi's voice rises to an embarrassingly high pitch. Mob bosses and street fights were what he was used to. The dark and unearthly surprises hidden in the depths of a biohazard zone were out of his league.

The guards level their weapons towards the noise that grows louder by the second whilst the scientist's eyes open wide with alarm and dread.

But Max simply ignores her and turns hastily towards the virus synthesis machine, 'Quickly. Help me with the device.'

Her own three guards hesitate for a second before reluctantly holstering their weapons and helping her to lift the device from the wall. The machine was a silver, circular drum, two metres in diameter, filled with tiny vials and attached to a tiny computer that regulated the condition of the central drum. Max and her guards begin to tug it free from its moorings but are struggling under the weight of the machine.

'Help us!' she demands to Bianchi's men.

'No,' Bianchi replies, 'We're leaving now. This was a mistake.'

He starts to retreat, his men following close behind him.

'Wait!' Max shouts, 'We need help to get this thing out of here. Get back here now you worthless coward!'

Bianchi spins to face her, his lips stretched into a sneer, 'Our deal is over.'

His movement is so swift that no one in the room is able to react until it is too late. Ripping his gun from his waist Bianchi raises it and fires once at Max. The force of the shot sends her stumbling backwards but she remains on her feet, her hands flying to her neck where streams of blood gush between her fingertips. The colour is shocking against her pale skin, like rose petals on snow. Red droplets coat her lips as she splutters her final breaths and collapses to the floor like a marionette puppet whose strings have been suddenly severed. The crashes and bangs of the approaching threat fade to nothing as you watch on, a cold sense of alarm and curiosity rushing through your mind. Max lies on her back, struggling to choke down air, her eyes fluttering wildly and her chest straining against her tight clothing. You know that you should feel a sense of relief or victory at this but in fact you feel nothing, as if your heart and mind refuses to spare what little time you have left to either celebrate or mourn her. Max's guards make a move for their weapons but hesitate, their faces calm and analytical. With their leader down there was only one option left to them all- escape. This was the price of hiring traitors.

But soon the sense of surprise around the room dissolves as another loud bang erupts from the corner of the hall. Suddenly the huge cargo door at the end of the room splits from its hinges and the steel panels slam hard against the floor. There in the dark hollow of the doorway a figure stands over ten feet tall, its body built as a mass of muscle and bone that mimicked that of a human. When you had first laid eyes on such a thing during your time at Arklay, you had been both disgusted and amazed that something could look so unearthly and yet so human. When you had left the laboratory with Jon shortly afterwards he had been flooded with shame and had barely been able to look you in the eye. Growling and baring the sharp, yellowed teeth that nestled within its small, hairless head the creature appeared to live up to the name that those Umbrella scientists had given it. Tyrant. This Tyrant was as tall as any you had ever seen, but the differences stopped there. Rather than having greenish-grey skin, the creature had a thin layer of tiny ghost-white scales over its bulky body. Thick, red veins that pulsated with each heartbeat were starkly visible underneath these scales and its eyes were a dark pink, seemingly sightless but still flashing towards your very spot. Its torso is at least a metre wide and its arms are as thick as lampposts but only one holds sharp claws, the other seems malformed almost and is half the size of the other. Looking into the empty eyes of the beast you remember that Tyrants were bred for a single purpose- revenge.

_So this is Wesker's surprise? Bravo Albert._

You quickly rise to your feet and slowly step backwards from the Tyrant as it begins to stride menacingly through the room, its footsteps making the tools and equipment on the worktops jump and rattle. The silence is broken by a scream as the terrified scientist flees from her corner towards the side room where she and Richter had originally been found. The Tyrant reacts almost instantly and leaps towards her swinging its arm and smacking her away as if she were simply a fruit-fly rather than one of the people that had created it. The force of the blow silences the hysterical researcher instantly as her body is sent hurtling towards a nearby stack of crates and falls to a lifeless heap on the floor, her head hanging limp from her broken neck.

'What are you waiting for?' Bianchi screams with rabid terror as the Tyrant fixes his eyes on him and his men, 'Fire!'

Along with the five mercenaries, Bianchi lifts his weapons and fires straight at the creature, their small, automatic bullets barely making the Tyrant flinch. You seize the opportunity and fall to your knees beside Max's still, cold body. Without reservation you reach inside the front pocket of her catsuit but don't spare the time to smile with relief when you find what you came all this way for. The disk. The one that had so impressed Bianchi two nights ago in Las Vegas. It was only three inches in diameter but held the fate of thousands, including you. With this, finally, you could start to erode Wesker and S Corp from all sides. While Bianchi and his guards fan out, distracted by the angry screams of the Tyrant, you rise to your feet and make a dash behind the tall stack of crates at the corner of the room. Looking back you find that two of the mercenaries are already lying dead across the floor, their bodies bloodied and bruised. Bianchi is backing away from the creature as it stalks him through the room. Howls and gunfire fill the room as the fight continues.

'Warning. Biohazard outbreak. Lockdown in progress. This measure cannot be aborted,' buzzed a shrill announcement over the communications system, 'Repeat, this measure cannot be aborted.'

_Oh fantastic!_

Immediately, the announcement is joined by a series of sharp alarms as the tall doors either side of the room begin to close. There's no time to retrieve your weapons and grapple gun from the edge of the room and you distantly hope that you won't need them. Ignoring the screams behind you, you push away from the crates and sprint for the closer of the two doors. Your arms pump the air furiously as you launch yourself towards the closing metal hatch, your body sliding underneath it to safety with a clean, faultless grace. But despite this frantic activity your body feels stiff and heavy so you spare a second to lay your head against the cold, metal floor of the hallway as you struggle to leash your erratic heartbeat. The data disk is still clasped between your damp fingers as you jump to your feet.

'Ada!' Leon's voice surfaces once again through the sea of static over your earpiece, 'What the hell happened? I heard noise and lost contact with you. The cameras went down.'

'I'm...alright Leon,' you reply as you begin to march down the hall, 'Meet me at the northern edge of the power plant. There should be...an exit above the reservoir. We need to get out of here now.'

'What was that thing?' he asks.

'We were right. Wesker did leave a surprise for Max,' you reply as you hug your arms tightly across your chest to keep them from trembling.

'And Max?'

'She's dead...Bianchi shot her,' you breathe as you pick up the pace and begin to jog towards the end of the corridor.

'That's it. I'm coming to get you. You sound ill. Are you hurt?'

'Don't!' you exclaim, 'Just do as I've told you without arguing for once. Please Leon. I'm almost there. Give me five minutes.'

* * *

_Next chapter up in about two minutes :-)_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Time's Up- Part Three**

* * *

**November 17****th**** 2005, 1.42pm: Somewhere inside Wesker's Nevada Facility**

Despite your promise it's almost nine minutes before you reach your rendezvous point and a cold sweat has broken out on your brow. Your cheek still throbbed and your knee is aching and locking into place as you walk. But still, there is no effort needed to craft your smile. It spreads effortlessly across your face like rays of the sun at dawn when you see him again. He's on the catwalk below you, leaning against one of three metal towers standing before the mighty waterfall that powered this base and several towns for miles across the barren desert. The waterfall is small by comparison with others across the world, but its sheer force and the white spray that it breathes over the manmade towers is breathtaking. Sunlight dances between the ribbons of water casting phantom colours onto the steel catwalk that is suspended several meters in front of it. Below is a giant reservoir that is blocked from the waterfall by a thick, concrete dam and stores an almost bottomless pool of water. A network of a dozen red waterwheels is held towards the lower end of the waterfall spinning in lethargic unison and groaning under the weight of the water. The noise is overpowering but Leon still manages to hear the sound of your black, leather boots smacking the walkway as you jump down the short ladder and onto the catwalk. His face is a mixture of exasperation and relief as he tries and fails to stay angry at you. Pushing himself upwards he straightens and jogs towards you. You meet him at the centre of the walkway. You immediately notice a dark bruise on his forehead and a slight limp in his step but he speaks before you can ask him about it.

'You approached Max,' he shakes his head whilst ducking forwards to envelope you into a tight embrace, 'I can't believe you did that. I saw you on the monitor before I was able to contact you. What you did was without a doubt the stupidest thing I've ever seen you do. You almost gave me a heart attack.'

As he buries his face in your hair and inhales deeply you let your smile grows wider and you close your eyes, 'I just wanted to make sure that you were paying attention Leon.'

'Since when do you have to do something like _that_ to get my attention?' he laughs as he runs his fingers through your hair, 'I'm just glad you got out of there.'

'Is that all you're happy about?' you whisper as you reach into your breast pocket and pull out the disk.

'You got it? You're amazing! And that has everything on it?'

'All of Wesker's contacts, suppliers and informants. It's over Leon. Wesker won't last much longer now that we have this.'

You hold it up to him and he grins broadly. You try a tentative smile in return but your jaw still aches and your shudder of pain doesn't go unnoticed. Leon reaches a hand up and tenderly cups your jaw.

'Ada,' he sighs, 'Let me take a look at that.'

You pull away, 'It's not important. It certainly doesn't beat that bruise on your face.'

'I ran into a few more Eliminators on the way back,' he replies with an easy shrug, 'I took care of them. There shouldn't be many more left apart from those still locked in the central hub.'

You look up at him bathing in his love for you for a moment longer, 'Thank you.'

He leans back and looks at you in confusion, 'For what?'

You reach up and curl your fingers behind the back of his neck softly stroking his skin, 'For tagging along.'

Leon smirks and parts his lips as though eager to tease you or to gloat that he was right all along about you. You _do_ need him by your side and he knows it for sure now. No more secrets, no more half truths. A voice in your head sighs in wonder and reminds you that this fact should terrify you or make you feel bare and vulnerable. Isn't that what happens when you experience something that's scared you for so long? Nevertheless, you're fine. Your world has not fallen apart at the seams. It's opened up to you. And Leon knows this. He knows how hard it is for you to admit that you needed him around. He knows how hard it is for someone like you to make such a personal declaration. But most of all he knows that this is likely to be the biggest commitment you'll ever have the chance or the courage to make with him. Wanting him was one thing, _needing_ him goes so much deeper. Needing is forever, not just for the months you have left with him. So rather than make a smart remark, he beams down at you as though he's never been more proud of anyone in his life.

'It was my pleasure,' he replies as you turn to walk towards the exit.

As you walk side by side along the bridge your hand joins tightly with his. Who made the first move? You don't really know or care. It doesn't matter how you got here as long as the result is this; as long as you're together.

The tall steel door at the end of the catwalk is the only escape route but unfortunately it's locked tight when you get there. Throwing Leon and exasperated frown you gesture back towards the building.

'Maybe we can find another way around,' you suggest.

'Or down,' Leon leans over the railing and begins making a few calculations, 'How long is the rope on your grapple gun?'

'Not long enough. Besides, it's still in the laboratory. I had no chance to retrieve it once the lockdown started,' you reply, 'Perhaps we can override the door locks from the computer system inside.'

'Or in one of these towers,' Leon suggests pointing towards the nearest rusty, metal structure.

'We'll search them together,' you nod in agreement.

You're both about to begin your exploration when a high-pitched whine screams through the air. You glance up towards the nearest of the three towers spotting several loud speakers suspended above you.

'Touching. Seeing you both together almost melts my heart,' a voice as coarse and dry as the desert sand growls over the announcement system. Its deep rasp is delivered at such a booming volume that it smothers the heavy rush of the waterfall in the distance. It sounds neither male nor female. It is more like a rumble behind a storm cloud or the growl of an animal.

You exchange a weary glance with Leon but before either of you can utter a word the voice purrs once more, 'Are you leaving me without saying goodbye Ada?'

You glare at the source of the sound, your hands curling tight and your fingers biting into your palms, 'Who are you?' you shout.

'Why do you ask such questions when you already know the answers? That always used to irritate me,' the voice replies in disgust, its growing rage making it sound thick and bitter. But it isn't the tone that makes your shoulders tense; it's the soft lilt of a Russian accent that hides beneath the roughly inhuman surface of the sound that makes you shudder, 'You know who I am.'

'Max?' you hiss in disbelief.

Leon frowns, 'I thought that she was...'

'Me too,' you interrupt, 'It was wishful thinking that it would be so easy.'

'The hard ones you always have to kill twice,' he reaches for his gun.

You grab his hand, 'No. Leon, you need to shut down the security system and meet with The Organisation first. I'll take care of Max.'

'What?' he pulls you around to face him, 'You have got to be kidding me! You can't do this alone.'

'I have to! I need you to get these doors open and tell The Organisation what's going on. Here,' you pass him the disk, 'take it. This has to be kept safe and as far away from Max as possible if something goes wrong. Give it to Agent Shaw.'

He hesitates but takes the disk and slips it into his pocket, 'We either go after Max together or not at all. It's what we agreed!'

You close your eyes and take a sharp gasp of the warm, humid air, 'She knows the formula to make the Trinity Virus. I can't risk letting her escape.'

'Ada. Don't do this,' he pleads.

His gaze on you is so strong that almost tethers you to the spot. More powerful than the pounding force of the steamy white water below, your heart is drifting back towards him. He grabs your hand in his but you snatch it away. You can't risk letting Max go. You won't leave this world with her still in it. You promised Leon and yourself that it ends today.

'Give me your handgun,' you ask, holding out your hand to him.

He stares at it blankly before slowly reaching into his holster and pressing the gun into your palm, 'The minute they arrive we're coming back for you. Just keep Max occupied until we get there okay?'

You don't reply. You simply nod, turn and run. The rhythmic clang of the steel walkway below you is all you can hear. You bury your name and anything else that you know deep into the darkest corners of your soul. Now isn't the time for second guesses, or regrets or safety. This is your last move. The deciding move of a game you've been playing from the moment you heard the words 'job', 'Umbrella' and 'Wesker' in the same sentence. You won't fold now because if you do then everyone else loses too. Shaw, The Organisation, the CIA. Leon.

_You have to understand, to accept this. You have to understand by now. I'm not leaving you; I'm protecting you with everything that I have._

You are lost in a jungle of thought so you don't realise what's happened until you're on the floor and covered in small lumps of ash and debris, a hot burst of air searing your skin. There's a loud clap of thunder as a second explosion rocks the walkway and spits a cloud of dust and sharp rock across your skin. Your shoulder is bleeding and your head feels as though it's being slowly crushed from all sides. There's sand in your eye and your legs are shaking from the force of the blow that sent you to the ground. You clamber to your knees and reach up to touch your forehead. You snatch your hand away and find it painted in a fine coat of blood. The rock face several metres away from the bridge has had a section the size of a large truck blown away. The door to the laboratory is already blocked with fallen debris and metal. There's no way through. You'll have to return to Leon's end of the platform.

The air is thick with dust as you rise to your feet, 'Leon!'

In the distance you can make out Leon's silhouette as he struggles to his feet but it's not his voice that answers you.

'You've underestimated me Ada,' Max jeers at you, her voice acidic with hate, 'I didn't just want to steal from this place. I wanted to obliterate it!'

It's then that you spot a small package buried into the rock face opposite you. Then another and another. C4. She's hidden charges of C4 all over the waterfall. You're cursing Max as another cascade of explosions erupts through the complex. Shaking under the force, the walkway begins to creak, its suspension cables splitting. You duck and throw your arms over your head to shield yourself shower of sparks and metal. Suddenly the red control tower to your right begins to groan, its steel legs buckling and snapping like twigs in a thunder storm. You gasp and throw yourself from its path. There's deafening crash as the tower smashes into the walkway behind you splitting the platform in the two and tumbling into the reservoir below.

Pushing away as hard as you can you launch yourself forwards as your half of the catwalk begins to break in two. The floor is pulled out from under you within seconds and you kick off from the platform throwing your body towards the other end of the bridge before you're dragged down to the dark depths of the water below. Reaching out, you grasp at the stable side of the walkway as you begin to fall. You gasp in surprise as your fingers miss the edge but you are just able to latch onto the steel frame of support cables that dangle off the catwalk like a safety net. Locking your fingers around the cables you cling on as tightly as you can. But you can already feel the metal cable slipping through your sweat soaked fingers. Below you several small fires have broken out on the surface of the still waters in the reservoir. The catwalk above rocks under the force of another explosion and you know that you have mere minutes before yet more charges are detonated. Your arms feel wiry and stiff, and blood from your shoulder wound is dribbling down your chest. You gently tilt your head back and look upwards finding that you have almost fifteen feet to climb till you can reach the top of the walkway. With your injuries there is little chance that you can make it with out your grapple gun and the chance of surviving the fall into the water far below is only a little greater.

'Ada!'

Instinctively your head snaps up at the sound of Leon's voice. He's above you on his knees, his hands seizing hold of the edge of the catwalk.

'Ada, I'll help pull you up.'

'Leon,' you call up as loudly as you can but your chest is tight with exhaustion, 'Get out of here. Just go. Get the disk to The Organisation.'

He looks furious at your suggestion, 'I'm climbing down to get you.'

'It can't hold us both!'

'Can you go more than five minutes without arguing with me?' his tone is light but his expression is hard and resolute. You know that he's going to climb down after you whether you like it or not.

You grimace as another detonation in the distance shakes the walkway sending down another wave of debre and sparks. You're livid at Leon's stubbornness, at his hero complex, at his sense of duty. You're angry at the very aspects that made you fall in love with him in the first place. But this is your choice to make, not his. Just as it was your choice seven years ago in Raccoon City. You look down at the water below and prepare to let go.

'No!' Leon yells, reading your intent from the look in your eyes, 'Not again! Don't you dare, Ada! I swear that if you let go I'm jumping right down there after you. I am not kidding. Don't do this to me again!'

You glance up and tremble at the look of utter heartbreak in his eyes, 'Leon...'

'Please don't,' he repeats softly and begins to lower himself down towards you.

Swallowing hard you nod and raise your hand towards his. He's so close to you now and the gap between you is shrinking. Closing your eyes and breathing in sharp and shallow bursts you appeal to time and every other force that has thrown your life in Leon's path. You ask for just a little more luck. Your fingertips brush his and finally you have his warm hand just inches from yours. Suddenly the walkway rumbles and his hand is thrown from your grasp. An explosion shreds through the walkway sending a torrent of stone and metal towards you both and you bury your face against your hands as you clutch firmly a the cables. A second charge detonates just metres above, its heat licking at your face and smothering you. The right side of your arm and face sting, burned almost raw by the explosion.

'Leon. Leon!' you scream as the noise dies down, but he's not there to hear you.

_Leon. No. Please, no._

You look upwards frantically searching for him but you're alone on the edge of the broken catwalk. Far below you there's nothing but smoke and debris breathing up at you from the surface of the water and in moments you realise that Leon must be down there too. He was right in the path of the last detonation. He isn't here. He's hurt. He's... Panic flares in your gut like a wildfire and you push off from the edge of the bridge without a second thought. As you fall you tuck your body tightly into position and swallow a deep gasp of the acrid, sour air before the water engulfs you completely.

The reservoir is freezing and the water is as dark as midnight. Your shoulder screams with agony as you begin to push hard against the force dragging you down into that darkness. You savour the pain. It means that you've survived the fall. Kicking hard, you journey towards the distant light of the surface. Your head bursts through the surface of the water and you find yourself caged behind a section of the walkway that had fallen from above. Clinging to the metal structure that is stuck half in and half out of the water you flinch from the sparking wires that dangle dangerously above you like electric serpents. You breathe too fast and choke on the water that is lodged in the back of your throat. The bridge of your nose aches, making your eyes water but you simply shake your head violently and scan the giant reservoir for any sign of him. Thrusting a hand through your hair you push it out of your eyes. You scream his name once more but the sound is overwhelmed by the explosions above and the distant, foamy rush of the waterfall. Using the metal framework you haul your tired body along and search for him again. Your long, black dress tangles around your legs as you move.

'Leon!' you spot him in the water, floating on his back, his body bobbing gently against the force of the water.

He's on the other side of the reservoir near the edge of the pool. Wasting no time you dive below the surface and swim under the metal structure. Your body slices through the water as you struggle to reach him. His face is red and badly burned, and he's covered in blood once you reach him. His eyes are tightly shut and you can't tell whether he's breathing or not. You whisper his name but there's no response. You press your shaking hands to the side of his throat and feel the weak throb of his fading pulse. Wrapping your arms around his chest you swim backwards towards the edge of the reservoir. You spot a small section of the pool where the edge slopes into a ramp out of the water. With your remaining strength you drag him as far along this ramp as you can until you're both finally out of the water. Faintly, you notice that the air is almost silent again. The explosions above you have finally stopped, their damage is done. Though the air is humid you're shivering violently as you fall to your knees next to him.

'Leon, answer me,' you cry as you press hard onto his chest, your hand becoming covered in his blood.

You're not sure if he has any broken ribs but it's a chance you'll have to take. He's stopped breathing. The right side of his face, neck and shoulder are badly burned and looking closer you see that there are several small shards of metal buried deep in his abdomen. Your fingers itch to pull them out but you know that this will only make the bleeding worse.

'Please Leon! Not like this. Come on.'

You lean forwards and part his lips, breathing a lungful of air into him. His chest rises and you pull away. You lock your fingers together and push down on his chest three more times. But he suddenly moves under you coughing violently, blood trickling from his lips. Sighing in relief you reach forwards and roll him over to let him spit out the water that he'd swallowed. His chest convulses once again and his eyes snap open. Blood spills out onto his lips once more. Crying out in pain he writhes and automatically reaches up to his heat scarred face.

You grab his hands, 'Leon. Look at me.'

He breathes deeply and his eyes roll towards you, 'Ada...What happened?'

Threading his fingers through yours you squeeze his hand till your knuckles turn white, 'Just lie still. The Organisation will be here soon and they can help you. I promise. Just stay with me.'

'My...my hands are cold,' he whispers shakily, 'They shouldn't...be so cold.'

'I know, beloved. Just keep looking at me,' you reply and bow forward to kiss his forehead. It feels clammy and cold to the touch.

'Ada...I don't think I can...'

'No. You can do this. Please Leon...'

'I suppose...I suppose this is...what I get for arguing with you all the time,' he murmurs and gives you a small smile.

'This is no time to be clever,' you reply softly, 'Just give The Organisation more time to find us. They can help you.'

_Where the hell are they?_

'Ada...there's nothing they can do. My ribs are broken...and I'm bleeding internally. It's too late...'

'Stop it!' you yell, 'Don't. I am ordering you to stay with me! You can't leave me now. Not after everything. Please!'

The soft hitch of his breathing begins to slow and the blood that burns like acid in the back of his mouth makes him gasp for breath. You place your palm on his chest desperately seeking his flickering heartbeat. Tears sting your eyes and, though you desperately try to blink them away, they begin to tumble down your cheeks and onto his chest. And despite your pleading, your praying and your plans, you realise that you are a coward. Whether you were running from him or running headfirst towards your own destruction you now know that all of your actions had been a frantic attempt to avoid this very moment. A moment that you had believed you'd never live to see. And as you lock eyes with his, you realise what he knows. He won't make it this time. Not this time. Not now. You struggle to calm your breathing and recover your crumbling control, but your training, those practiced, tried and effortless methods that have held you together till now suddenly desert have deserted you, sinking into the abyss leaving a desolate shell behind. All you want to do is scream and cry and demand that he tell why he did this, why he came after you again and again. Why he fought to save you only to destroy you in the end.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way. Damn you! You should have left me!_

'I'm sorry,' Leon mutters, his blue eyes seem to fade to a dusky grey as he watches you, 'I'm sorry that I couldn't...be there for you in the end like I promised.'

You bite down hard on your bottom lip and shake your head, 'That doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter.'

'It does matter,' he pulls your hand up his mouth, 'It matters...to me. It matters ...because I love you. I...always have.'

Quivering uncontrollably, you gaze down at him through your gathering tears, 'I love you so much Leon. So much.'

Leaning forwards you rest your forehead against his. His small, erratic breaths kiss at your lips and his eyes gently drift shut. You know in your heart that you'll never be able to look into them again and the first bitter taste of irrevocable loss seizes hold of you. Opening your eyes you tenderly sweep the golden locks of hair from his forehead and press your mouth to his. His soft lips part under yours like always and a seed of joy blossoms in your soul. But already you feel his love fading from you, becoming a memory on the other side of a pane of glass that you will glimpse behind closed eyelids but never touch again.

When you lift your head you see Leon's lips curve into the barest ghost of a smile.

'How did you know what my last wish was?' he whispers.

A shaky smile dances on your lips for a mere moment. Your hand grasps tightly at his chest as if to prevent his last breath from escaping, but it slips through your fingertips. Time becomes nothing as you sit there beside him willing another breath, another word. You begin to wonder if you'd happily spend your last days here with him. And as your tears dissolve into your midnight black dress you realise that it has been a long time since you had last cried. The last time had been over six years ago in front of a mirror fingering a scar on your stomach. Now you are crying over a wound that cuts you far deeper than that scar ever had. You throw back your head and scream through the tears, the sound spiralling high around you like a banshee, taking a life of its own and charging through the heavens demanding to be heard and to make the earth tremble. You bury your face in your blood soaked hands and let the agony that beats away at you rip another howl from your throat. As you cry out once more you collapse onto Leon's chest. Your grief resonates through the complex, soaking the surrounding waters with sorrow and rage. It's the sound of your heart breaking. You had found your heart the day you had met Leon. It's only fair that it dies with him.

Trembling wildly, you lift your head and furiously rub the tears from your cheeks. You glare back towards the laboratory through the wet tendrils of hair that cover your face. A thousand bursts of awareness rocket through your mind; loss, anguish, regret. But the greatest of these is hate. Hatred rots away at the tenuous, eerie calm that has fallen over you and you feel as though you're going to be sick.

_You could have stopped this. You should have let Max die in Kazakhstan months ago. She should be dead now, not him. You were selfish from the start. You refused to let the mission come first. You let him come with you. You did this to him. You did this Ada!_

With slow and deliberate movements you reach into Leon's pocket and remove the data disk. You can't stand to look at it, shoving it straight into a hidden pocket inside your dress. There's no way you're leaving here alive without destroying Max as she has so thoroughly destroyed you. And if you fail, so be it. You caress Leon's face with the tips of your fingers one last time before tearing yourself away from him and marching towards the distant doorway at the end of the platform.

The trip back to the main laboratory is an empty blur of grey hallways and vacant storerooms. The air is cold when you reach the large, subterranean cavern once more and you shiver. The door to the laboratory is now open and the loud security alarms are dead. There is no sign of life, only the thick shadows that nestle in the jagged, red walls are moving. You grab hold of Leon's gun from your holster. Stepping into the hall you survey the carnage that had been dealt in your absence. The giant plasma screen at the far end of the room has been ripped from its moorings and lies smashed into two clean pieces on the floor. The machinery and computer banks that had buzzed so brightly were now dulled and silent. Crates, forklifts and chairs are split and scattered. The viral synthesis machine is demolished. Only the tanks of liquid nitrogen and oxygen lie untouched at the very end of the room.

You slowly emerge around a pile of wooden boxes to find two of Bianchi's men and Bianchi himself. They are covered in blood and sprawled in a single, limp heap on the floor. Bianchi's jaw hangs loose in a silent wail and his dark eyes are staring at the ceiling in lifeless horror. You shudder because you know what he saw before he died. The other guards lay a few metres away, their heads smashed open and their chests slashed. The Tyrant. It did this. But where was it? The hairs on the back of your neck shiver as you anticipate a trap. Before you can even think of your next move you hear a soft scraping noise behind you and you spin on your heel just in time to spot the deformed framework of one of the small forklifts flying towards you. You dive out of the way and duck behind one of the taller crates, adrenaline and bloodlust gushing through your veins. The forklift collides with the floor skidding till it reaches a stop against the back wall. You look back and spot a figure in the distance disappearing behind a pile of empty oil drums at the other end of the room.

'Show yourself!' you challenge, 'Or are you just going to run from me?'

A booming, gravelly chuckle echoes around the empty room, 'Ada, Ada, Ada,' Max growls, 'I won't run. You see, I miss playing with you. I miss how hard you were before you ended up weak and pathetic like all the others.'

You slowly stand up and begin to follow the sound of her voice, 'Then come out and play with me now for old time's sake.'

'I thought you didn't play games,' Max replies, her voice growing louder as you close in on her position.

'I'll make an exception.'

'And what other exceptions are you willing to make Ada? Will you accept the future that you signed on for all those years ago? Those contracts we signed in blood, remember them? You should never have been in Raccoon City Ada, that mission was mine! You stole it from me. Now you can repay me.'

'I'm not here to join you Max,' you declare coolly as you approach the stack of oil drums, 'I'm here to kill you.'

But you're taken by surprise. Out of nowhere Max appears behind you and grabs you by the neck. You struggle as she lifts you inches from the ground and effortlessly tosses you away. You land hard several metres from her, your knee slamming against the concrete and making you gasp.

'You're over-dressed and over-rated!' Max screeches at you bitterly, 'Forgive me if I don't shake in my boots.'

Looking up you raise your weapon towards the figure only to pause in surprise.

Max stands before you, her body twisted beyond almost all recognition. Most of her hair has fallen out leaving nothing but thick, veiny growths enveloping her skull. Her skin is a frosted blue wrapped around heavy, bulging muscles. There is a hole in her throat from Bianchi's bullet and below that is another much larger opening. Her chest has burst open at the front exposing her empty, rotting heart. Her metal leg has been shed and a newer limb, thicker than the other and ending in jagged claws, has grown in its place. You recognise the colouring of her skin and some of the effects. The Alpha and Beta viruses from Kazakhstan did this. There's no other explanation.

Disgust flares within you. You raise your gun and fire three times straight at her chest. Her body shudders from each impact but she simply grins flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth, her eyes flashing white with pleasure.

'Do you approve?' Max rasps as she steps towards you, 'Come on Ada! We're both scientists here. I had never considered using myself as a subject but that swine Bianchi made it a necessity. Before I died I was able to inject myself with the Alpha and Beta viruses from the syringe. I thought "What the hell?" Who says you're the only one that can cheat death? What did I have left to lose?'

You jump to your feet and glare at her, 'Enjoy it while it lasts. It's never forever. I've lived it and I know.'

Raising the gun you fire at her point blank but she simply stumbles, her smile never leaving her face.

'Oh this is forever Ada,' she hisses and lunges for you.

You dodge her attack and run towards the end of the laboratory. You slide behind one of the upturned desks and attempt to calm your breathing. Your hands begin to shake again and you feel that familiar bitter sting in the depths of your lungs as you struggle to breathe.

'Ada! Don't you dare run from me,' Max roars as she kicks over crates in search of you.

Desks and chairs crash to the floor as she simply flings them from her path. Her strength is both awe-inspiring and sickening. And it seemed to be growing with every moment. Just like several of the bio-weapons you had witnessed in the past she seemed to be able to heal from her wounds at an incredible rate. In the distance you spot one of Bianchi's men lying dead on the floor. You keep low and crawl towards him, grabbing his heavy machinegun from his cold hands.

'When I awoke again Bianchi and the others were all dead,' Max yelled proudly, 'I was disappointed till I noticed that your beautiful corpse wasn't part of the display. Nevertheless, I still got to practice on Wesker's little pet.'

At that moment you spot the body of the Tyrant stuffed behind a distant wall of crates. As you shuffle closer you see that it is lying on its front exposing a ragged hole in its back. Its spine has been ripped from its body. You grimace at the realisation that Max is just playing with you. She's far stronger than she has deigned to demonstrate to you so far. The machinegun might not be enough.

'And then I saw you and that agent of yours by the hydroelectric plant on the security monitors,' she continues, 'They used to say that you had nine lives. I never believed them till now.'

Max's heavy footsteps stop on the other side of the desk and you know that she has found you. You edge backwards and ready the machinegun. Grunting forcefully Max topples the desk over and makes her move towards you. Standing, you take your chance and fire at her emptying a full clip straight into her chest. Max roars in pain and begins to back away. Thick, purple droplets of blood spew from her arms and chest. But the magazine empties far too quickly and you're not able to drive her away completely before the bullets run out. You mutter a sharp curse. The gun is useless and you throw it to the floor reaching immediately for your handgun. But Max has already recovered and she throws herself towards you, her eyes crackling with hatred. She knocks the gun from your hands and throws a heavy fist towards you. You dodge her and kick her brutally in the stomach. But she barely reacts. Lunging for you again she grabs your neck. The force of her attack sends you both towards the nearest wall where your back collides sharply against it. You kick violently at her but she simply tightens her vice grip. You bite back a shriek and your hands fly to your neck to wrench hers away. Her long, black nails slice into your tender skin but you refuse to give her the pleasure of your scream.

'I used to envy you,' she mutters between clenched teeth as she lowers her twisted, scared face towards yours, 'The power you had over men and the things you could make them do for you...' she grins menacingly, her thin lips folding backwards as she bares her teeth once more, 'I saw what happened to the government agent. So sad, yet so fitting. Another beautiful fool is lowered into his grave with only thoughts of you to comfort him.'

You scowl at her darkly as you reach for your knife. Grabbing its handle you lift your arm and bring the blade down swiftly towards her face. With a sickening thud it pierces her right eye. Max screams and knocks you away from her. She fumbles for the knife and tears it from her eye, screaming Russian obscenities at you as she does so. The mission to Kazakhstan flashes in the back of your mind and a plan begins to form as you clutch your injured throat and stumble away from her.

_One chance. Please let this work._

You make a run for the far end of the room towards the gas canisters pausing only to sweep your grapple gun from the floor beside the computer terminals where it had been thrown by Max's guard earlier. You round a sharp corner and reach the alcove at the end of the room by the large delivery shutter. It's a dead end. Nothing but crates, gas canisters and blood. Another of Max's mercenaries lies dead in the corner, a hole in his chest from the Tyrant's claws. He must have been trying to escape when he died. Your heartbeat is storming its way up your neck now and a cold sheen of sweat coats your forehead. Dried blood flakes between your fingertips and your knee is constantly buckling under you.

'It's over Ada. No more games!' Max appears behind you and you turn to face her.

You slowly back away, your eyes trained on her. Her right eye socket is now empty, the shocking white eyeball is gone leaving nothing but a weeping, dark hole in its place.

'You're right,' you mutter, your voice as bitter as the first kiss of winter, 'Good bye Max.'

You raise your grapple gun and fire towards her. She dodges the shot and the hook latches onto one of the canisters behind her. Max laughs; the sound ringing through the facility and coating the walls with her icy delight.

'Nice try,' she takes a step towards you, her hands twitching with anticipation.

Before she can come any closer you pull the trigger of the weapon and the rope snaps backwards releasing the catch on the canister behind her. A sharp rush of liquid nitrogen erupts into the air around Max. She yells out in surprise as the chemical covers her like a frozen cloud. You watch in grim amazement remembering the effect of ultra cold temperatures on the zombies in Kazakhstan and how brittle their bodies where. Thrashing under the force of the blast Max attempts to retreat. Firing the grapple again you hit another canister and rip it open. Max screams once more and when the nitrogen cloud parts she's blinded and on the point of collapse. You're trembling with fatigue, your energy and emotions drained dry and left to burn in the desert. But you have enough left to reach for your handgun once more. Without a word, without ceremony you aim and fire at Max's writhing figure. Her left arm shatters at the shoulder and falls to the floor, its ability to heal completely dissipated due to cold air saturating her skin. You fire again at her chest blowing a hole the size of your fist straight through her. Max bellows in rage but you ignore her and fire once more at her leg sending her to her knees. The pain she is feeling is nothing but a pale reflection of your own torment. You pace towards her, your eyes dark and hollow as you stare her down. She glowers up at you, parts her lips and lets out a loud, vengeful hiss. Raising the gun you fire at the very centre of her skull shattering it into countless tiny shards of bone and blood and flesh. Max's body crumples to the floor a final time. You feel nothing as you stare down at the mess she's left behind except the distant satisfaction of a mission accomplished. You turn from her and walk away. The mission is over and there's nothing more you can do here. Time's up.

* * *

_It was a really hard decision to kill off Leon. Really hard. And I also wanted the death to be both tragic and fitting for him. It sort of made sense in my twisted mind that he'd die trying to save Ada despite knowing that she will end up dead in a few months anyway. The story hasn't ended yet though. There's still an epilogue left, which I will upload early next week (hopefully on Monday). I can also promise that in the next story I write neither Leon nor Ada will die or become fatally ill. I swear. :-)_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: How Long Does Forever Last?**

_Author's Note: _

_Sorry about the delay- real life sucks!_

_Wow! I made some people cry. Seriously? I never thought that I'd be happy about something like that But it showed that the chapter worked reasonably well and I was quite nervous about it I can tell you! It was a hard choice to kill Leon but I didn't want to keep him alive till Ada's death as there time together would be so similar to the motel room chapters. And in retrospect I went on a bit of a killing spree in the last chapter. Oo Opps. But as I said, I really won't be killing off Leon or Ada in any of the new stories I have planned. Promise! This was a one time thing just to see how it would work and I'm pretty happy with this story. It's been a great learning experience for me and it's the single longest thing I've ever written!_

_This leads me to remind you that this is the very last chapter of Timeless. Ending the story was quite bittersweet for me and many of the sentiments expressed by the characters sort of mirror what I felt as I was writing. It's weird ending it as I feel as though I've been writing this forever. It's the first fan fiction I started and I planned the basic plot in a single hour on night whilst at university. I'm just so glad that it's complete as it's kept me sane despite the crazy upheaval I've been going through over the past few months._

_But most important of all I'd like to spend time thanking everyone who has taken the time to review this story. It means more to me than I can ever say. Special hugs go out to Alaska Kennedy (the eternal crusader for Leon/Ada loveliness), List of Romantics (the eloquently poetic writer of awesome reviews), Vogue Dirge, VGJunky158, nicola235 and KhasKlwn. _

_A super special hug with sugar on top goes out to Squall my darling beta of the infinite patience. Thank you!_

_I really hope everyone enjoys this ending._

**January 25****th**** 2006, 10.14pm: Manhattan, New York**

It's been two months, one week, thirty two hours and fourteen minutes since you had finally fulfilled the promise you'd made to kill the man you loved. You may not have had any intention of completing the objective and you may not have detonated the charge but you had ended your day and your career with his blood on your hands none the less. As you had dragged your tired, broken soul back to the reservoir you had been greeted by an army of Shaw's sharply efficient agents. They were securing the area, leaving invisible footprints in their wake and cataloguing death and destruction with an apathetic glance. You were still soaking wet, frozen and shaking, close to collapse but you wouldn't let any of them touch you as you had paced through the facility. And after a dark glare from you not one of them tried to help you again. Shaw had approached you, his bland, pale face taught with disbelief and anger because you had acted alone and without his permission. But you had been indifferent. What little The Organisation, or anyone else for that matter, had held over you had finally dissolved. Your mission was over; the cycle had been cut to pieces. The staring match between you and Shaw had lasted for several minutes, punctuated only by embarrassed coughs from his junior agents as they watched confused and anxious at the sight. But the frost had melted from Shaw's silvery-grey eyes when you had lifted the tiny disk from your pocket and pressed it into his long, thin fingers. He had made a move to ask you about it but you had pushed past him, your eyes focused on the prone figure by the edge of the reservoir right where you had left him. On the surface he had been nothing but a familiar shape covered by a stiff piece of black cloth. Better that way, you had decided. Better that you don't see him again. Nevertheless, this thought had not stopped you from taking another step towards his still body, your fingers burning for his skin, your body screaming to bury itself against him once again.

_One more, just one more touch, one more kiss. Just one more, my beloved._

'What happened here?' Shaw had asked, stopping you in your tracks. His eyes had been focused on you but you had known exactly what he's talking about.

Closing your eyes, you had folded your arms across your chest and shakily choked down a gasp of air, the base of your throat feeling as though is was still being crushed under a vicious pair of hands, 'Max...' was all you had been able to say.

Shaw had said nothing more after that, and nothing still for the entire ride back to headquarters. As delirious and destroyed as you had been, you still wonder to this day if the soft looks of concern or perhaps of recognition, that had flickered from his eyes towards you had been nothing but a daydream on your part. But perhaps under that gruff layer of professionalism that he wears as a skin over his brittle bones and heart, he understood what you had gone through. But strange; that offered no comfort to you or him. Such are the bereaved and the grief-stricken. At once a group so large yet as individuals so desperately and irreconcilably alone.

It's been one month, four weeks, seven hours and sixteen minutes since you had watched his memorial service from the distance, but the pain never really went away. The funeral had been on the 27th of November. Appropriate somehow. It had been exactly a year since the mission to Spain had thrown him into your path and into your heart once again. It had been exactly a year since you had realised that everything you had known, everything you had relied upon, everything you had believed in had changed. The sky had been flawless that day, the sun winking cheerfully through the sharp, brown, lifeless branches of the trees that surrounded the cemetery. Leon had been buried with full honours and a flag draped over his coffin. The president had sent his condolences and his daughter to represent him. Your fingers had gripped the steel bars of the railings outside as you had watched the ceremony from a distance. Somewhere in your life you had forfeited the right to dwell in normality so once again you were barred from this part of his existence. You could barely make out the words of the eulogy, the sounds just floated past your ears, slinking away before you could grasp them. There was no order to stop you from attending the service, but you knew that you couldn't stand to come face to face with his family, his friends and his colleagues. They had no idea who you were or how Leon had died. All they had been told was that the mission was 'classified'. Still, your heart had begged you to approach the tall, imposing woman at the head of the procession to tell her...tell her that her son had not only saved your life but had given it purpose and joy. You had longed to tell her about the missions that government policy had kept from her. You had longed to tell her of the difference Leon had made to so many lives and that he had never asked for anything in return except for the chance to help all over again. You had longed to tell her that he hadn't been alone when he had died. But you had longed most of all to tell someone, _anyone_, that you were sorry. Instead you had kept your distance, eyes heavily lidded as though attempting to shield you from what you'd done and from the pain you'd caused. You know that no one had noticed your drawn and pale figure almost haunting the main gates of the cemetery, just as you know that no once would have noticed the solitary red rose you had placed among the forest of condolences beside his grave.

It's been five weeks, three days and two hours since the world had been declared officially free of S Corp. With the information you and Leon had gathered the nefarious corporation had toppled within weeks. You pause as you pass a late-night news-stand and run your gaze over the bold, black headlines that scream out from their short, neat stakes on the table top.

_S Corp declared bankrupt, investigation reveals mass corruption_

_S Corp stock prices plummet, mass panic on the exchange_

_CEO of S Corp found hanged in prison cell_

You smile faintly and turn to walk away. The facts of the articles are not worth reading. Besides, you knew the whole story yourself. The _real _story in fact. The entire ordeal had been purposely and carefully skewed by The Organisation to omit any mention of bio-weapons, Albert Wesker, Umbrella or Max. As far as the rest of the world knew, S Corp had been investigated by the FBI and a deep web of corruption had been purged. The company had supposedly attempted to fake a terrorist attack at its power plant in Nevada to claim the insurance money and pay their way out of a hostile take-over. Many of its executives were being questioned and five of them had killed themselves over the past few days. The FBI insisted that the deaths were unrelated but you and The Organisation knew better. Those three men and two women had been S Corp's highest ranking executives, Wesker's bosses and the pioneers of the bio-weapons program. The coroner's reports had read 'suicide' but you knew deep down in your heart that Wesker had had something to do with it. This overt display of violence hinted at his desperation to cover his own tracks and bury his mistakes. According to Shaw, Wesker was on the run, his trail leading from Budapest to Belfast to Boston. They'd lost him and an almost undetectable phase of panic had set in behind the thickly cloaked walls at The Organisation's base of operations. But you were at ease. Wesker is no longer a major threat to the world as far as you're concerned. He is now just a cog in a machine that doesn't exist anymore. His knowledge and records are in the hands of the government and no other group would risk hiring a man who had failed so miserably, not once but twice, to deliver on his ambitious promises and goals. Second chances only come once. Perhaps it's what they call poetic justice that he, like you, will live long enough to see the death of everything he that loves. Now, like you, he is obsolete.

It's been eight hours, nine minutes and four seconds since you had stepped out of your head quarters and into the cold sunlight. You rarely leave the compound that you now work and live in, but today you had decided to take a stroll around a city that was saturated with memories, regrets and unreachable opportunities. You had wanted to see the world for the last time. Shaw hadn't been happy, but he knew better than to bate you today of all days. Snow is crunching under your black boots as you walk through the quickly emptying streets of New York, the haunting ethos of the New Year still ringing fresh in the crisp, frosty air. Tear drops of snow tumble onto your black coat and weep down your collar to kiss your neck. The snapping gusts of air whip your short, black hair over your eyes and you flick your fingers up to brush it away. The Organisation had offered to extend the tenure of your employment for the months following the Nevada mission. The clean up in Nevada had taken a week as the facility was secured, the bodies disposed of and the final Eliminators hunted down. Shaw had told you that they had all been killed and disposed of but you strongly suspected that The Organisation had kept a live specimen or two for study. Numbly you had agreed to continue working with them and poured the final ounce of your resolve into sweeping up the pieces that Wesker, Max and their associates had scattered in their wake like breadcrumbs. And how easy, how comforting yet how strange it had been to slip into the characteristic aloofness that had embodied you since your birth. Now you talk about nothing but work. You were an agent once again, your hours spent trailing your eyes across the documents and operation plans. But all this from the safety of your desk. The stiffly professional and politely insincere men and woman that you passed in the hallways were a relief. They are what you were used to. Your condition had gotten more acute, as though loss and pain had somehow accelerated the deterioration of your body. Till this day you are unsure of whether this is a punishment for your actions or perhaps some kind of reprieve. For months your faultless focus has been an anaesthetic for your emotions, locking them away behind layers of steel. You are the walking dead. You'd eat, sleep, work, meet your every appointment and then work again till late in the night when the growing darkness would weight heavy on your eyes and drag you into a turbulent, dream-filled sleep. Frustration had taken hold of you as, over the past three weeks, you had had to leave almost half of the meetings you had attended before they were completed. You had felt like an invalid when you were being ushered to your room before you collapsed or even had a second heart attack. When your doctor had asked you to slow down you had simply replied 'Why? I've never slowed down for anyone in my life before, why break the habit of a lifetime?'

For some reason you had wandered into a small book store a few hours ago. It was nested between a restaurant and a clothes shop. Its front was painted a deep burgundy and a warm burst of air had rushed against your face when you had opened the door. Inhaling the stale musk of the pages and running your fingers along the covers aimlessly you had paced the shelves for hours. You had always loved to read, to lose yourself in knowledge and fantasy till time was lost and your reality was measured by the turning of the pages, not by the ticking of the clock.

'Can I help you Miss?'

You had looked up at the sales assistant hovering to your left and had almost jumped in surprise. The man's butterscotch blonde hair had hung softly over his forehead and his pale eyes had glowed with good-humoured concern. He had been wearing a deep blue shirt and dark jeans. He couldn't have been older than twenty one. He was an inch too short, his eyes were grey not blue and his smile wasn't nearly as beautiful but the resemblance to Leon had been enough to make you had feel as though you had been punched in the stomach. Shaking your head venomously you had turned and fled from the store and onto the cold street again.

You had then retreated into a cafe, sat in a discrete corner and curled your blue-tipped fingers around a hot coffee. There you had stayed until a brisk phone call from Shaw's office had beckoned you back to head quarters. So once again you have returned to this huge, cavernous building that disguises itself as a bank, but beneath this shell lies the heart of The Organisation. You climb the thick, concrete steps to the entrance of the building and your red pass card allows you to breeze past security and enter the executive elevator. Your final duty here was to help The Organisation plan its strategy to completely dismantle S Corp and any other group that attempts to fill its place in the world of biological warfare. The receptionist gives you her stiff, automatic smile as usual and without a word she phones Shaw to tell him that you have returned. Nevertheless, you decide to make him wait for a while. You need a warm shower.

You reach the 'guest quarters' and enter your apartment. The decor is more austere than your usual places of residence. No flowers bloomed on the windowsills, no soft jazz music floated in the air like an undercurrent, the bookshelves were empty, and the bed sheets were plain and a pale grey. Only the dinning table held anything of interest. Your mission reports and files were piled neatly over the surface of the table. Leon's name was not mentioned in any of them, not even in the Nevada mission report. You had given the full details to Shaw but he had erased Leon from the final document that was released to the CIA and FBI. Again, it's for the best. That is what you tell yourself, but the ease with which he is disappearing from your life sickens you. Though you reach out for him in your sleep, your heart soaring through your dreams and calling out to him, you wake up from your slumber as hollow as you had been from the moment he had died. A well of confusion and anguish now sits where your soul should be. And in the mornings when you stir against the cool caress of a winter's daybreak, you forget for the smallest of seconds that dreams and reality are bound but also very different. For those moments just before you wake you could have sworn that you'd spent the day with Leon in a cabin in the mountains. You'd had eaten a lazy breakfast with him, gone skinny dipping in the lake, laid in his strong arms watching the most perfect of sunrises and made love to him till you could no longer move. But you always wake up alone and his visage fades away. Your mouth then parts and words of love are born on your lips before you realise that your conversations are simply with your empty pillow.

_It's so cold without you beloved._

Slipping your coat from your shoulders, you begin to undress. As you walk past the tall mirror on your dressing table your eye is caught by the sight of the scars and red blemishes that cover your chest and abdomen. You'd almost gotten used to them. Your exhaustion is returning however. It had taken a plethora of drugs and injections to keep you on your feet for an entire day. As you step into the shower you carefully slide the screen shut and lean your heavy head against the tiled wall. The warm water begins to gush over your bare body, the steam enveloping you into a stifling embrace. Since your time in Nevada you had not been able to face taking a bath. To shiver in a tub, submerged under memories of him...it was too much. All too much.

_When did I become such a coward?_ You ask as you begin to scrub your skin with the damp cloth. Your movements are clumsy and listless, the cloth slipping from your fingers and on to the floor with a dull thud. You stand there frozen taking shallow gasps of the damp, sweltering air. Slowly your hand rises and covers your soaking forehead. The other is reaching frantically behind you for support as your body, quite of its own accord, sinks to the hard ground. Staring blankly at the frosted glass before you, you catch the phantom of your reflection, the image is blurred but it somehow looks more complete than you actually feel. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as your skin becomes numb to the scolding water. You hug your legs to your chest and bury your face against your knees. Broken sobs echo around the tiny shower stall as you sit out the final hours alone, your weaknesses hidden as always from the prying eyes of others. The people you worked with were, quite naturally, curious about you, but most had the good sense to pretend otherwise. You'd heard the rumours of course; cruel whispered voices floating in thin, gauzy layers around your ears, slipping softly under doorways and around corners like smoke as they gossiped about you with glee.

'_I heard that they were secretly married. Can you believe that?'_

'_I can't believe Kennedy went rogue for her. I mean...she's hot and everything, but have you seen how cold she is? She doesn't have time for anyone here except the director and his staff.'_

'_I haven't seen her shed a tear for him. I don't think she even cares that he's gone. What a bitch.'_

'_She's been in to the see the doctor every day for the past week. Agent Wilson is guessing that she's pregnant.'_

Once the final tears have been soaked dry from your body, you sharply wrench the handle of the shower and limp across the bathroom. You feel that familiar tightness once again and you slowly lean forward the grasp the edge of the sink, your arms tensing sharply as you hold on. You breathe deeply and beg the shaking and the pains to bury themselves again, if only for the next few moments. You had hoped to spend these last few moments with dignity and calm. Growling with fury you yank open the door to the cabinet and grasp the almost empty bottle of red and black pills. Ripping off the lid, you tip out the final three painkillers and throw them into your mouth. As the medication slowly melts through your system you squint at the sickly creature that stares at you from the mirror, her pupils dilated, her face pale and her hair tangled. You shake your head vigorously, your vision now becoming sharper. You blot your body dry with a towel and drag a comb through your hair. You fluently begin to apply a thin layer of make-up over your tired eyes. A pointless act you know, but it made you feel a little better, a little more...normal in fact. You dimly remember the make-up you had used to hide your bruises and combat injuries from Jon and all the other men you had seduced into thinking that you were flirtatiously harmless, sultry, sincere and crazy about them. Not surprisingly, Leon had once told you that you wore too much of the stuff.

Dressed in a light, red silk dress whose hem dances around your knees, you stride barefoot from the bathroom and into the living area. Seconds later there is a knock at the door. You rise slowly and open it, turning away again almost immediately. You know who has arrived.

'You're late,' Agent Shaw mutters as he walks into your room, 'Was it vital that you leave the compound today?'

You smirk and settle into a chair by the window, 'I must have forgotten that your idea of a "guest" is someone that you want to keep under surveillance twenty four hours a day.'

He doesn't reply to your remark, he simply takes a seat opposite you and it's then that you notice the small package in his hands, 'I thought I'd deliver this to your personally for the sake of privacy,' he says, placing it on the table.

You nod and reach over to take it in your hands, 'Thank you.'

Shaw leans back in the chair, his grey eyes narrowed and his razor thin lips pressed together. He watches you solemnly, his eyes homing in on yours accusingly as though you were a crossword that he had spent hours on but was no where near close to finishing. You had been a trivial distraction to him, something that he hadn't taken seriously. But once he had learned of your true motives in working for The Organisation a tenuous, wordless bond of respect had begun to form between you both. Now you dominated his work and his thoughts as he tried to understand what you are doing and why so that he can mould you into a shape that he could recognise. So far he had failed.

'Your instructions regarding your...possessions and so on have been received and will be followed to the letter,' he declares suddenly, 'And your...other remains will be handled as well. No one will know accept myself and my superiors.'

You nod your head once again, your expression perfectly composed, 'Congratulations on your promotion. I understand that they're making you head of your department now.'

Shaw stares at you for a moment in shock but he recovers quickly, 'Thank you. This project has taken almost a decade to complete. To be honest...' he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and glances away from you, '...I feel a little lost now that it's all over.'

'I know the feeling,' you reply softly and he looks at you a little guiltily.

Shaw quickly sits up and rises to his feet. You stay sitting but he doesn't notice this time, 'I thought that you'd want to know, Wesker has been tracked down to Taiwan at a private compound. Apparently he's going under the name of Richard Rhys. We're sending in a team first thing tomorrow morning.'

'Do you think you'll catch him?' you ask.

Shaw raises one eyebrow and folds his arms, 'I think we have a good chance.'

You sigh and your eyes wander to the window and the black expanse of the night that has fallen over the private grounds below your apartment, 'A wounded animal is always the most vicious when it has been cornered. I'd advise caution, Shaw.'

He seems almost indignant for a moment as he frowns down at you but his expression regains its neutrality as he replies, 'I'll take that under advisement.'

Shaw turns from you and begins to leave. When he reaches the door he pauses, his fingers drumming at the doorframe impatiently. He looks back at you and adds almost as an afterthought, 'You did a good job Agent Wong.'

You glance up at him in surprise but he is already out of the door.

Gazing down at the heavy package in your hands you run your fingers over the thick, discreet brown paper. Abruptly, you shred the paper off and drop it to the floor. Inside are a small, red plastic box and a neatly written note.

_Take all four of these. The entire process should take twenty minutes and will be relatively painless._

You smile grimly at the careful wording and open the box. Inside are four pills, two red, two blue. Now faced with the ending you are lost, bereft and almost mindless in your hesitation to complete your final task. You had never considered the prospect of God or heaven or hell. Death was simply akin to losing. You'd had a taste of it of course, the daintiest kiss of oblivion before you were snatched from its embrace by Wesker. You remember darkness, you remember silence, and you remember peace. And you long for that peace again, for freedom from the thoughts of Leon that torture you, freedom from the guilt that erodes your sanity every hour of every day. One by one you swallow the tiny, colourful pills and they slide easily down your throat. You stand up and walk to the bed. Only then do you remember that you've left no last words anywhere. No note, no recording. But you shrug indifferently. There is nothing left to say. Some say that suicide is a selfish act and really you agree. But humans by nature are selfish creatures driven by survival. That lesson was the heritage your parents had left you. And now you have chosen how to die. A selfish choice, a vital one. The only choice but one you reach for gladly. A gradual calm falls over you, your movements lose the erratic, clumsy nature they had adopted and a familiar grace holds you steady.

There is a clock by the side of your bed. It is one of the few possessions you had been able to recover from your old home before Max had rampaged through it with her goons all those months ago. It was an ornate, art deco clock with thick, black hands and a white face. It read twenty minutes to midnight.

You switch off the lights, lie flat on your back and stare up at the dark ceiling watching the moonlight waltz across the walls. You breathe in time with the clock beside you as if inhaling the minutes like oxygen. Your breathing becomes more laboured as though a heavy weight was pressing down on your chest. It becomes cold all of a sudden. Shivering, you roll to your side and curl your legs under you.

The clock reads twelve minutes to midnight.

As the seconds melt away you faintly recall an extract of a poem that you had read as a child and then lost in the far reaches of your past until now as your mind begins to loosen its fierce hold on your memories.

_No coward soul is mine,  
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:  
I see Heaven's glories shine,  
And Faith shines equal, arming me from Fear._

The clock blurs before you and your eyes begin to ache. A brief panic grips hold of you as you attempt to reach up but find that you can't move your arms. You take a deep breath and let your eyes fall shut, your fingers twitching before your body falls still again.

_There is not room for Death,  
Nor atom that his might could render void:  
Thou -Thou art Being and Breath,  
And what Thou art may never be destroyed_

A sound, distant and fading, fills the room. It is the striking of the clock beside your bed. Midnight. Dark, rich and glorious midnight falls over your world as the echoing sound dips and leaps gracefully over your cold body and bids you farewell. You are pawing through darkness and stumbling on legs you cannot feel or see. So this is death. This is what it feels like behind the thin curtain of reality. There is no up or down, no space, no time, no pleasure, no pain, just different degrees of sensation. The chime of the clock plummets into the distance as you are swept away from the world and into a chaotic emptiness, colours and images bursting at you like fireworks against the backdrop of the night. Your parents, Leon, Shaw, Wesker, Max, Leon, Jon, Birkin, Annette, Leon, mother, father, Leon, Wesker, Krauser, Leon, Leon, Leon...

'Leon!' you gasp as your eyes snap open again.

Your eyes widen and your head swings from side to side as you take in the scene. You are disorientated from the sudden landing, as if you have plucked from a dream by a loud noise and then hurled to the ground. Your fingers curl as you reach up and grab your waist, then your shoulders and then your face. You're whole, normal, familiar and awake. How? You are still in your red, silk dress and you're barefoot as before. You are in a large room filled with outdated furniture and pale walls. A ceiling fan spins lazily above you, a double bed dominates the centre of the room and a vanity is tucked away in the corner. Soft, yellow light streams in through the window along with a sigh of fresh morning air. The gentle warmth of the room feels like a blanket against your skin. The dark carpet is coarse between your toes; the sensation amplified throughout your body till it reaches your mind and makes you shudder.

_Where am I? Somehow I thought the afterlife would be bigger. But it seems familiar..._

Suddenly, a blinking red light outside the window catches your eye and you make a move to run towards it. Your movements are stiff however and you almost trip. It feels as though you have been asleep for years. You reach the windowsill and stare out at the landscape below. Nothing but desert. It's an orange and yellow stretch of sand and rock that you recognise instantly, but it takes a moment to process the information. The red and blue sign above however spells it out to you in gaudy lights: 'Riverside Motel, Las Vegas.' A sharp laugh bursts through your parted lips as you step back from the window. This is impossible. Or perhaps not. There are people that say Las Vegas is both heaven and hell. You spin around and look at the room. Memories of a timeless night in Leon's arms return to you. It's as you remember it but on closer inspection everything is just a little different. The sheets are spotless, the bedside table polished and gleaming, the walls are freshly painted and the mirrors are not cracked. You march towards the bedside and leaf through the desktop calendar. It's blank. Every page is blank. No months, no days, no year. You frown and stare at the digital clock that sits beside it. The display is empty as well. Red lines blink across the electronic face of the timepiece, but there are no numbers. The device is working but there is no time recorded. You gaze at it for a moment and then another thought occurs to you. Gently you pull at the front of your dress and glimpse down at your bare chest and stomach. Your skin is as fresh and clear as dew. The marks are gone. You straighten your clothes and look towards the window once more. The sun is high in the sky, eternal noon, and there is complete silence, no people, no cars, no slamming of doors or muffled arguments from the other rooms.

_Where is this place? What is this place?_

'Ada.'

The voice comes from behind you and you're paralysed with apprehension. That voice... Your eyes widen and your jaw stiffens as you stand perfectly still by the window and dare yourself to turn around. But you can't. This is not possible. It's some kind of trick. This isn't real...you couldn't afford to hope again.

'Ada. Please look at me,' he begs.

You begin to tremble and you wrap your arms around your waist.

'I can't,' you reply, your voice sounding unusually frail and delicate.

'But I've missed you so much. Please baby, just let me see you.'

Your hand shoots up to your mouth to stifle a violent sob. Tears bloom in your eyes as you slowly turn around. He's standing in the doorway of the bathroom at the other side of the motel room, dressed in a short-sleeved, navy t-shirt and jeans. His crop of blonde hair is oh so lightly dishevelled and his brilliant blue eyes wash over your face. You gasp softly and shake your head.

'No,' you whisper, 'You're not real.'

Leon smiles softly and begins to walk around the bed towards you, 'I was about to say the same thing to you.'

'This is a dream...' you back away from the windowsill.

'If this is a dream then we're dreaming it together,' he replies stopping just metres from you.

The familiar words ring through your ears as you take in the sight of him. Your eyes greedily sweep over his body and face, your heart singing with a joy so powerful that it almost knocks you from your feet. Down to every last detail he is as you remember him; the way he looks, his voice, his smile and the way he makes you feel. Not even in your dreams have you felt like this.

'I don't...I don't understand... How do I make sense of this?' you ask.

He sighs, glances up at the ceiling and then back down to your face, 'Who says we even have to make sense of it?'

'I do!' you reply sternly, 'Please don't lie to me. I couldn't stand to lose you again.'

'You never lost me,' Leon's expression softens and he reaches out his hand, 'Does this feel real?'

You stare at his hand for several seconds daring him to give up and disappear but he doesn't. He's as stubborn as you remember too. Reluctantly you lift your hand and tenderly run your fingers over his. A tremor jolts through your arm as your skin makes contact with his. You grab his hand in yours and squeeze as tightly as you can.

Looking up, your eyes meet his and you marvel at his smile, 'How did you get here? What happened to you?'

'I don't know how this happened or why,' he says to you as he gently rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, 'But when I woke up after what happened at the dam I was here. I don't know how long I've been here and you know what? It didn't even occur to me to leave. I somehow knew that I had to wait for you here. I knew that my time wasn't up yet. I promised you that I would be there for you when you died. This isn't exactly what I had in mind but I wouldn't have it any other way.'

Your quivering lips curl into a smile and before you even realise that you've moved you are falling into his arms. Like a river bursting its banks in a storm your emotions, delight, desire and relief, flood your heart and soul. Leon's arms wrap tightly around you and he buries his face in your hair. As your hands grip firmly at his back you feel him tremble and you realise that he's crying too. Until he had died you had never really acknowledged all that his very existence gave to you. But someone or something had deemed you worthy of finding him again, of being in his arms, of touching his soul with yours.

'God I missed you so much,' he whispers shakily.

'I missed you too,' you lift your head from his chest, 'Leon, I am so sorry...I never meant for this to happen to you. I only wanted to keep you safe. I promise that I never wanted you to...'

'Hey,' Leon cups your face in his hands, 'It was not your fault. Look at me. It was not your fault Ada. I died with you beside me. I was with the person I love more than anything else, so don't you dare apologise. I'd die for you a thousand times Ada. Just don't ask me to live without you.'

Your breath catches and you reach up to stroke his hair. It feels like liquid silk against your fingers.

'Everything was so empty without you,' you tell him, all reluctance and hesitation now gone, 'I tried to go back to the way things were before I met you. I tried to be cold and focused on the job but I couldn't do it. I couldn't. Damn you Leon! I loved you too much to forget you no matter how much it hurt.'

Smiling broadly, he leans forward and kisses you passionately. You return the kiss with fervour and thrust your fingers into his hair as his hands caress the body he knows so well. He moves down to kiss your cheek and your neck, his hands dipping low past the hem of your dress and between your thighs as you squirm against him and mutter ardent encouragement into his ear. Desire consumes you; its red hot fingers are trailing across your abdomen now and making you shiver.

When you open your eyes you notice that the room has gotten impossibly brighter, the sunlight saturating the air around you and blurring the edges of the room until they glow and smoulder with energy. The light begins to grow and the motel starts to fade away to nothing, leaving just you and him standing together in a field of white. Confusion and mild fear tug at your heart but as Leon's arms tighten around you those feelings disappear into the abyss. He looks down at you; he's at once so open and so strong. You return his gaze and move forward to rest your forehead against his. The light doesn't blind you. You realise quickly that it is anything but earthly. It is your love stretching endlessly beyond your past, present and future. It's like standing in the middle of a supernova. As the radiance snakes around you both you lose the ability to sense anything but him.

Soft whispers of love pass between you both as you stand huddled in each other's arms. This is peace. You know it with every fibre of your being, with your heart and your soul. This is where you are meant to be and where you'll always be: with him, a part of him, loved by him. How could it have been any other way? Your destiny with him has not ended. It has just begun. Time is powerless here. And as you both fade into that beautiful plane of eternity, you realise that time cannot touch you again, the hours cannot steal your pleasures or the light from your eyes. You are timeless, whole and finally content. At last you've found a home, a place to exist and to love, free of sorrow, agony and loss, you have found your place by his side. You are together for as long as forever will last.

**The End**

_I hope that that is an acceptable happy ending (and for the record- that really was Leon's soul that she met when she died.)You know that I can't keep Leon and Ada apart forever!_

_The poem extracts are from Emiliy Bronte's 'No Coward Soul Am I'._

_My next project is a sequel to 'Hope' and I'm planning to start it very soon. It won't be as long as 'Timeless' but it'll probably be longer than 'Hope'. The story will be plot driven as well as character driven and will involve Leon having to make a choice that will seriously affect his future with Ada. So until next time- take care!_

_C xx_


End file.
